


Super Bass

by mathildia



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Adultery, Begging, Blackmail, Boot Worship, Casual Racism, Cop Fetish, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, Fisting, Gang Bang, Gang Rape, HYDRA Trash Party, Hand Worship, Handcuffs, Homophobic Slurs, M/M, Rape Fantasy, Reluctant Submission, Seduction, Sex Work, Strip Tease, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Uniform Kink, Whipping, forced romance, magnificent bastard jack rollins, strip club au, verbal feminisation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2018-04-22 19:15:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 31,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4847117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mathildia/pseuds/mathildia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Steve swallowed, gulping where Rumlow’s finger touched him. “Thanks,” he said, voice shaky. Rumlow wasn’t meant to touch him. No one was meant to touch him in here. But he didn’t say. He didn’t say as Rumlow’s fingers slipped down, over his chest, all the way down, down - “You sell private dances, trade?” - down until they were resting on the edge of his tiny briefs. </i>
</p><p> </p><p> <i>“Yes,” said Steve. “Yes, I do.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [Lingua Mortua](http://archiveofourown.org/users/linguamortua/pseuds/linguamortua) for the beta on this. 
> 
> There’s Stucky in this story so I’ve tagged for it, but this is not really a Steve/Bucky story. In this story Steve and Bucky are in a relationship, but it is not going well and is full of angst and frustration. 
> 
> Most of the interaction is Steve/Rumlow. Just so you know.

It felt like the walls were closing in - red plush and shiny brass and plastic champagne glasses and baby oil and night after night the same. It was only two. It felt like four. Steve hated shifts that dragged like this. His feet hurt and the washing instructions label of his glittery briefs was chafing at the crack of his ass. He was tired and he was irritable and he’d never felt less sexy in his damn life.

Bucky had texted an hour ago asking what time Steve’d be home. Steve was annoyed about that. Bucky should know what time. If he paid attention to Steve’s shift pattern, he’d know. Steve was on lates all week. When he texted back “6” there wasn’t even a reply. Bucky never swung by to see him at the club anymore.

Thursday nights could go either way. Sometimes folk would just say ‘hang it’ and act like it was the weekend already, drinking way past the time it was sensible. Some Thursdays were the best nights. For a lot of folks, once they’d made the decision to order another bottle of fizz after midnight, a private dance from the guy you’d just seen fucking himself upside down on a pole, seemed like the best idea ever. Maybe they’d even break out a whole eighty bucks for a backseat suck job. But other Thursdays never came alive, and meant working all night for two dances, barely covering parking and the take out grabbed on the way home. 

Steve had sold three dances tonight, but he hadn’t had a sniff of any side action. He’d done his act and didn’t have another spot on the pole for a couple of hours. He always felt awkward walking the floor. He had good game face, but all he could think about was the bell that would ring at five, the drive home to his bed, the moment he got to wrap himself around Bucky for an hour until the alarm went off and Bucky unpeeled his body from Steve’s and went to shower. Bucky worked long hours at the precinct, Steve worked longer ones at the club. When their shift patterns were out of synch like this, they sometimes didn’t see each other for weeks.

As Steve turned around to walk back across the club, someone beside him pressed an icy glass into his hand. Usually, if a customer bought you a drink it was because they wanted to sit with you a while, have you flirt with them, make them feel attractive. And Steve was down for this, down for any distraction from the fact he was stuck in this hall of mirrors and pulsing bass for hours and hours yet before he could be home with Bucky. But the person who had bought him the drink had just handed it to him and turned away. All he saw was a plume of dark hair moving away through the crowd. Steve sniffed the drink. It was vodka. Fucking neat vodka. He slid the glass on the bar, untouched, and decided he’d go find Sam. Sam would cheer him up.

But as he turned away from the bar, he heard someone shout out - Sam.  
By the time Steve got across the floor to where Sam was, Natasha was already there, putting her body in between Sam’s and a trick Steve had never seen before. Dark hair. Handsome, but, somehow, not in a good way. Both Sam and the trick were breathing a little heavy.

“Okay,” said Natasha, arms folded. “What’s the problem here?”

Sam’s face was twisted up with anger. “This slimeball grabbed my ass and put his hand down my fucking panties,” Sam said. Sam was wearing a tiny pair of silver briefs. In the whole place, only Steve’s were tinier. The shape of Sam’s dick was pretty visible.

“Okay, okay,” said Natasha, turning to the trick, palms out. Steve almost hoped the guy was going to be an ass to her. It was always fun, the look on their faces when she broke out her funbag of moves. Steve hated almost everything about this place, but he loved that in this room full of Marys with gym-pumped bodies, the person you’d most want on your side in a fight was Natasha. “The thing is, sir,” Natasha was saying, “we have a strict ‘no touching’ rule. You will have seen the signs in the lobby.”

“Fucker grabbed my fucking dick,” Sam muttered, looking down at the floor. 

Natasha glanced at him and sighed, annoyed. “Okay, Sam. I got this.”

The trick smiled. “Let me clarify things, sweetheart.” He reached into his top pocket and drew out a warrant card. As it flapped open, Steve caught the name under the badge. _Rumlow._ Officer Rumlow. “This one’s under arrest. He tried to sell me sex.”

“You motherfucking liar!” Sam shouted and went to lunge at Rumlow, Natasha moved like a blur to hold him back, pinning his arms behind him before he could do anything. Rumlow just smiled, hadn’t even flinched. It felt like the whole club was looking at them and Steve saw Natasha’s eyes widen in panic. She glanced up at door on the mezzanine over the stage. Nick’s office. Not that you could never even be sure if he was in there; the only way you found out was when something like this happened and he thundered down, fired everyone involved and bought the entire club a round of drinks as compensation for the inconvenience. 

Sam saw Natasha’s eye line and dropped his voice. “I did no such thing. He’s lying. He’s a fucking shade.”

The cop held up his hands, palms to Natasha. ”Okay, no need for that. This can all be settled very fast. No fuss. I’ll just take chocolate here in and-“

“What?” Natasha spat. “What the actual fuck?” It was like she’d been electrified. Like her talons had just come out.

“Sorry.” The cop smiled. “That came out wrong. All mean to say was, look, none of us want any trouble, do we?”

Sam looked at Steve, and Steve thought he might be slightly wired. He couldn’t be sure. All of them caught a buzz sometimes to get through a long shift. Steve, though, Steve knew he was clean. And the way this cop was looking at Sam… the way he’d grinned at his own lazy racism. Like it was a warning. 

His smile was the kind of smile that, if a trick smiled at you that way and asked how much for a real nice time, it would be better, always better, to say that sort of thing wasn’t for sale. Sam would have spotted that nasty smile too. Never would have put it in the table for a guy like this, even high. That was how Steve knew Rumlow was lying. And that he was the same guy who had pressed that cold glass of vodka into his hand earlier. 

“It was me,” Steve said. 

Sam and Natasha both looked confused. “What?” said Natasha. “What was you?”

Steve swallowed. “I think you made a mistake officer. It wasn’t Sam who said he’d suck you off in the parking lot for eighty bucks, was it, sir? It was me. People get us confused all the time.”

Rumlow looked from Steve to Sam and back again, the smile spreading over his face like an oil spill. Natasha said, “Steve?”

Rumlow stepped closer to Steve and touched his bare chest with one finger. “You know, I think you’re right, sugar. It was you. And that’s a crime. I think I’m going to have to take you in.”

Steve shivered. “Yes, sir.”

Rumlow didn’t look particularly strong, but his body was hidden under a black shirt and jeans and stood beside two guys in their underwear who were all built and muscle, but when he took hold of him, Steve went down fast. Rumlow grabbed his shoulder and flipped him, slamming him face down onto a table of empty glasses. Before Steve had caught his breath, Rumlow was hauling his arms behind him cuffing them in the small of his back. “Wait,” Steve said, “You don’t need to…” but it was too late. 

Being handcuffed, when he was dressed like this, in almost nothing, made Steve feel sick and vulnerable. And the tiny trunks he was wearing hid nothing as Rumlow yanked him off the table and started to man-handle him out of the club. He heard Natasha say, “Alright, fellas, nothing to see here.” And wondered whether she was referring to how obviously hard he was. 

As the cop got him out into the lobby he whispered in Steve’s ear, “Interesting reaction you got to handcuffs there, trade.”

 

*

When the cop put Steve in the car he was pretty sure they weren’t going to the precinct. No rule-abiding cop would put him in the passenger seat like this, half naked and handcuffed. It was a lot of effort to go to for a freebie suck job. Steve was almost flattered. If this cop, this Officer Rumlow, had a uniform on, he’d be getting off on it. 

Rumlow leant over from the driver seat and pulled the seat belt over Steve, caressing his thigh as he fastened it. “Nice body,” he said and he stroked Steve’s leg again with the back of his hand. He said it so quietly Steve wasn’t sure if he was meant to respond.

“Thanks,” Steve said. It came out on a breath. 

Rumlow slapped Steve’s thigh hard. “Vain fucking whore,” he said - and Steve couldn’t hide the way Rumlow’s words and Rumlow’s slap had made his breath hitch.

Steve felt slightly sick when Rumlow started the car. He was still horribly turned on, and the capable way Rumlow started the car didn’t help any, stretching an arm across the back of Steve’s seat and idly reversing out of his parking spot. They only went around the corner. There was a filthy alley behind the club, almost as if by design. Steve licked his teeth and said with fake surprise, “Why are you stopped here? This ain’t the precinct.”

“Beauty and brains,” said Rumlow, snapping off his seat belt, turning to smile at Steve. “Changed my mind about taking you in. Gonna let you off with a warning. Ain’t I nice? Don’t I deserve some gratitude.”

“Sure,” said Steve. “Sure, sure. Gratitude. You want me to do it with the cuffs on, because, trust me, I’ll do a much better job without them.” He shrugged. “But if that get’s you hot, I can get it out with my mouth.” Steve looked at Rumlow’s groin. His erection was almost as obvious as Steve’s own. Steve felt his dick get a little wetter at the thought.

Rumlow reached over and took Steve’s chin gently. His thumb grazed the corner of Steve’s mouth. “Greedy whore,” he said, his voice dropping low, almost a growl. “You want my dick, do you? Fuck, look at you, you’re fucking burning for it.” Rumlow looked at Steve’s own cock, his squirming hips. “If you want my dick you’re going to have to ask me much more nicely than that.”

“You want me to beg for your dick, sir?” Steve’s breath was coming heavy, suddenly. “I can do that. I can do whatever you want.”

“You can, can’t you?” Rumlow squeezed Steve’s face tighter and adjusted his chin higher and higher until a whimper slipped from Steve’s mouth. “Whatever I want? Anything anyone wants, right?” Rumlow’s lip curled into a little sneer. He moved his head close, his mouth close. “But I want you to come to me. Just to me. Only to me. I want you to come to me and beg to be used.” 

“I don’t think -” Steve managed, struggling to steady his breathing. “What?”

Rumlow leant nearer, closing the last breath of space between them. He was so close Steve could feel the heat of him, could smell the sharp scent of his sweat and aftershave. Steve’s breath was hitching over and over. Rumlow looked at his mouth. Steve shivered. “You want to kiss me, trade?”

Steve’s dick was hard. Not just hard, leaking. He thought Rumlow could probably smell it. Smell his arousal. His fucking desperation. He stared at Rumlow and he knew his thighs were shaking. “I don’t kiss.” He swallowed the thickness in his throat. “I don’t kiss tricks.”

Rumlow licked his top lip. “I didn’t ask that, whore. I asked if you wanted to kiss me. Do you? Do you want to kiss me? Are you fucking aching to kiss me, you piece of fucking shit. Sitting here in my car, naked, you fucking whore. Do you want to kiss me?”

Steve swallowed, sick with shame. And knew that he did, oh, he did. “Yes,” he said, so quietly there was almost no sound at all. “Yes, sir.”

“Then it’s a real shame that you don’t kiss, ain’t it?” said Rumlow and he snaked an arm behind Steve. “Now,” he breathed, “get out of my fucking car, trade.” He’d unlocked the handcuffs.

“What?” Steve was so stunned it took him a moment to bring his wrists back in front of his body. Rumlow reached over him and popped the lock. The car door swung open.

“I said, get out of my fucking car.”

*

When Steve got home Bucky was at the table eating breakfast. Oatmeal and honey. The kitchen was sunny and Bucky was wearing a suit and a tie and he looked so happy and pretty and clean. Steve almost felt like he didn’t want to touch him. He’d showered at the club, changed into clean sweatpants and a hoodie. But he felt tainted and gross. Like he often did lately, when Bucky smiled at him, so sweet and good and pure. 

“Hey baby,” said Bucky, taking a mouthful of coffee. 

Steve moved to the counter and poured himself a mugful. He turned around and leaned up against the worktop. “Hey Buck. You look good.”

Bucky laughed. “You freaking don’t. You look fucked out. Late shifts still biting, huh?”

“Kinda.” Steve brought the mug to his lips.

“You shouldn’t drink that then. You should sleep. Go to bed.” Bucky tipped his head towards to door.

Steve stepped up behind Bucky and stroked his hands around Bucky’s jaw. “Maybe I don’t want to sleep. I wouldn’t mind going to bed though.”

Bucky tipped his head back and looked up at Steve, smiling. “Babe, don’t. It’s nearly eight. You know I gotta go.”

Steve pouted. “Don’t go. Say you’re sick. Not even a lie. Come and be sick in bed with me.”

“You know I can’t. Things are really intense right now.” Bucky cocked his head as Steve pushed his bottom lip out further. “Anyway, you’re back late. Aren’t you normally back from lates at 6? If you’d got back at the usual time, you would’ve had an hour in bed with me.”

Steve looked at Bucky and took a breath. He felt guilt wash over him. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah. Odd kinda night.” He took his hands off Bucky’s face and stepped away to lean back against the counter again. He took his coffee mug. When he’d slipped back into club to wash up and change, he’d run into Sam, who’d wanted to know everything. Steve had shrugged and made an excuse, but Sam had waited around and, in the end, got the full story. 

“Weird,” Sam had said, finishing up a V and T, the mostly-melted ice chinking.

“I know, dude, I know. He didn’t even touch me. Not really.”

“He will though.” Sam looked down at the table. “That guy’s gonna be back. I don’t think he wanted me at all.” Sam drained his glass. “It was a trick to get to you,” he said, gargling round ice. “I reckon.”

*

Steve was half asleep when the bedroom door opened. It was dark in the room and, as Steve rolled over into Bucky’s arms, he had no idea what time it was. “Buck?” he whispered into Buck’s belly, then noticed the fabric his face was pressed against. “Buck?” Steve lifted his head. “Buck are you wearing…?”

“Guard your eyes a minute, babe,” Bucky said as he snapped on the bedside lamp, and Steve gasped. Bucky was in his blue shirt, his peaked cap. Steve craned his neck to see. _Oh god, his fucking boots._

“You’re in your…” Steve had to swallow to make his throat wet enough to speak. “You’re in your uniform. Did you…? What happened?”

Bucky laughed, climbing up onto the bed. “They ain’t demoted me, babe, don’t worry. I just thought, for you. Thought I’d wear it for you. You know I miss you when you’re on nights.”

“Bucky!” Steve said it on a breath, rolling onto his back as Bucky swung one leg over Steve’s body, caging him down on the bed.

“What do you want me to do?” Bucky whispered, ducking his head down to nip Steve’s ear lobe. 

Steve arched up into Bucky’s mouth, dick hard, Bucky’s blues reducing him easily to a desperate keening mess. “You know what I like,” Steve gasped out as Bucky bit his chin. “You know what I like, Buck. Officer.”

Bucky’s chuckle in response had a growl to it. “Yeah, I do, you little fucking punk. You want me to read you your rights?”

“Oh god, Buck, yes. Yes!”

“You done something wrong? You need correction? Penal correction, you piece of shit?”

“Yes, officer.”

“Okay, scum. Maybe you’d better start by licking my boots. Show me you know how to behave and treat your betters with some respect.”

“Yes sir, sorry sir.” Eagerly, Steve slid, naked onto the floor beside the bed. Bucky’s black boots were shiny, slick to his knee. Steve kissed the leather edge where the boot met Bucky’s blue pants. As he pulled his mouth away a tiny moan spilled from his lips - a sweet twist of shame and desire. He pressed out his tongue and he licked, rocking his hips.

He licked his way down Bucky’s shin, feeling the hard flesh inside the soft, musky leather of the boot. He made a long, soft guttural sound as he did it, desperate to reach the toe, to lick Bucky’s feet, while Bucky sneered at him and told him he was disgusting and should be ashamed. His dick was hard between his legs, leaking, throbbing with desire.

He looked up as he slid his wet tongue over the top of Bucky’s foot. Bucky was looking at him - all flushed cheeks and heavy, hooded eyelids. 

Bucky was still one of the hottest guys Steve had ever seen. They’d met when he’d pulled Steve over one night for a smashed back light on his bike. What followed was still the hottest thing that had ever happened to Steve - Steve who’d had a cop fetish for as long as he’d had a dick. Bucky, in his blues, catching Steve’s erection and risking his badge to give him a sudden, filthy, perfect kiss and his private number. Bucky had said since it wasn’t a risk. That the risk would have been letting Steve go. 

_“You don’t even know, babe. You then. What you fucking looked like on that bike. And I knew you wanted it. Blushing as soon as you saw me.”_

_You were wearing your fucking uniform and a pair of aviators.”_

_“Yeah. Guess I was. You’re so kinky for that shit. I sometimes think you smashed that back light yourself.”_

When they first got together they’d reimagined the night Bucky pulled Steve over again and again. Always there go to. Their solid gold, unsinkable mutual kink. With Bucky in his uniform, with Steve naked. Steve on his knees. Steve in handcuffs. Steve stammering, “Sorry officer, please, I’m sorry, please don’t arrest me, sir,” and kissing Bucky’s boots over and over. Licking them. Making the leather slick and glossy until his cock was drooling all over the floor. 

“You’re fucking filthy,” Bucky would say, crouching and sipping a finger into the mess on the floor, pressing it to Steve’s lips so he could lick. “Fucking filthy.” He’d say it laughing, laughing and hard, and he’d smile. 

Bucky wasn’t laughing - or more than half hard - now, but he was looking at Steve indulgently as Steve lapped at his boot. Steve knew he looked good like this, naked on his knees, muscles flexing as he cupped Bucky’s heel…

The sudden, shrill sound snapped Steve out of his breathless, eager worship. He lifted his lips from the boot. “Don’t,” he said softly. “Don’t, Buck.”

But Bucky’s face had changed. He was all serious business and he lifted his phone from his pocket and swiped at the screen - mouthing a quick sorry as he pressed the phone to his ear and clipped out, “Yeah. Barnes here.” A slight pause and then, “oh. Oh Jesus. Okay, where is he now?”

Steve looked down at his own hard dick and his heart was heavy and cold in his chest. As he started to get up from the floor, Bucky cupped the receiver. “Don’t,” he hissed at Steve, “don’t go, babe. I’ll be two minutes.”

Steve shook his head. “It’s okay, Buck. I gotta go to work.”

 

*

Steve swung his hips on the podium like he was desperate to get fucked. He wasn’t even faking it. 

He stripped out of khakis, popping each stud of his tight shirt to some Rihanna track he’d never even found out the title of. He didn’t choose it. He never chose the music. Or the clothes. Sometimes he’d get up on stage to find they were playing a different track and it might be a mistake or a change he’d not been told about. 

He’d been in the khakis - and then, on Friday’s and Saturdays when he did a second set, biker leathers - for months now, but he could easily come in one day and find some other outfit in his locker with no notice or explanation. It wasn’t worth complaining about. He was hardly irreplaceable. 

Tonight’s Friday crowd seemed kind of split. Men in business suits, looking bored, or just furtive. Not everyone was here for Steve’s body. There were people for whom this place was just somewhere to come when their usual post-work bar closed. The attraction was that it was open all night, serving liquor. Steve taking his clothes off on the stage was of little consequence. And some people came here because other people didn’t. The anonymity of a run down gay strip club. Cops, criminals, various lowlifes liked it for that. And there were always few hookers in, driving the prices down, letting Steve and his friends do all the wet work then offering up a cheaper hole in the dark. 

A bunch in the corner seemed into it, though. Middle aged men in tight jeans and tees. But it was hard to guess who was gonna buy. After seven years Steve still got surprised. At least once a week someone who’d barely glanced at him on the stage or on the pole would come over and buy everything he’d got.

He took off the shirt to reveal the vest underneath. It was khaki, too, but spandex, so it was tight as shit and showed all his muscles. He dropped his shirt and ran his hands over his chest, teasing his nipples a bit and letting his mouth fall softly open like he was fucking into it. He was into it tonight. His dick was stirring. He looked out at the crowd and wondered if Rumlow was out there. 

_I want you to come to me and beg to be used._

And once he’d thought that, Steve was fully hard. He popped the trick seams of his commando pants and ripped them off in time with the musical crescendo, enjoying the ripple of reaction, thinking of Rumlow. Thinking of Rumlow enjoying his body.

Under the pants he wore tight khaki trunks. His erection was obvious now and the fact everyone could see it turned him on. He teased the vest off next, biting his lips as he showed his tits; dog tags swinging between them. The tags said ‘cumslut’ and ‘fucktoy’ on them. 

Steve wasn’t sure why anyone bothered with this level of detail. No one was near enough to see, even when they reached out and used shoving bills into the crack of his ass as an excuse to touch him. ‘Cumslut and ‘fucktoy’ were pretty indicative of the level the place played at. This was not the classy strip joint of Steve’s adolescent fantasies. This was a fucking dive. One time Steve had come in early and found, hanging on Sam’s peg with his hot cop outfit, a jockstrap with a fucking banana over the dick. Steve had hidden it before Sam saw and replaced it with a plain black one.

He lost the trunks. Underneath he wore a tiny thong patterned with the stars and stripes, the reveal of which was met with a chorus of applause and whistles. Steve smiled as he took a couple of bows in his thong and tags and army boots. Then left through the red curtains at the back of the stage.

Backstage, Steve changed into a pair of glittery camo-patterned briefs, spritzed himself with baby oil and wandered back out onto the floor. He’d usually sell a couple of private dances off the back of the floorshow. 

He wasn’t even fully through the curtains when he saw him, leaning against the bar in a short-sleeved black shirt - nice forearms. Officer Rumlow. 

Steve paused right outside the curtain and nodded a hello. His mouth was dry. Rumlow pushed himself off the bar and walked over, came too close and said, “Hello again, sugar.” He reached out and touched Steve’s throat with a long middle finger. “Nice show.”

Steve swallowed, gulping where Rumlow’s finger touched him. “Thanks,” he said, voice shaky. Rumlow wasn’t meant to touch him. No one was meant to touch him in here. But he didn’t say. He didn’t say as Rumlow’s fingers slipped down, over his chest, all the way down, down - “You sell private dances, trade?” - down until they were resting on the edge of his tiny briefs. 

“Yes,” said Steve. “Yes, I do.” His voice was half lost.

“How much?” As he spoke Rumlow pulled a wallet out of his back pocket. It was thick, bulging with worn notes. 

“Fifty.” Steve said. “Five minutes, no touching.”

Rumlow nodded once as he leaned close, a fifty in his hand. He reached around Steve and slipped the note into the back of Steve’s briefs. His mouth was at Steve’s ear and he whispered, “Yeah? You’re gonna beg me to touch you, slut.”

*

Steve took Rumlow into one of the private rooms and nodded to the long couch where he was to sit. “Do you have a track you want me to dance to?” Steve said, opening a cupboard and pulling up a playlist on the laptop inside. 

“Anything,” Rumlow said, sitting down and spreading his legs wide. “Play me your favourite.” He glanced over. “I wanna know just what you’re into, sugar. What you like to bend over to.”

Steve shrugged and picked out a Nicki Minaj track, then turned and stalked over to Rumlow, stood himself between Rumlow’s spread legs and let his tongue touch his lips. He lifted his arms behind his head, paused a moment to feel the bass line, then took a sharp breath and jerked his hips, thrusting into Rumlow’s face, rolling his head slowly back.

He did it a couple of times. Rumlow stared up at him with his lips parted, and a gaze that made him feel filthy and degraded. Steve’s mouth went dry. After a moment more, he turned around and bent over, pushing his ass out. Rumlow grunted. The music switched key and got dirtier and Steve ground himself backwards. He was panting hard when he turned back around and rolled his crotch forward.

“Nice,” said Rumlow. “Now beg me to touch you.”

“No touching,” Steve said briskly, running both hands down his slick chest, moving closer and then arching away, rolling his whole body.

Rumlow looked at him and flicked out his tongue. “Didn’t say I was gonna. Rule’s no touching, not no asking you to beg for it.” 

Steve moved a little closer. Rumlow spread his legs even wider. Both his hands lay on his hard thighs. This man was dangerous and Steve swallowed something like arousal and fear, to think it. “When you said I was gonna beg, I didn’t think you meant because you’d told me to.” He brought his arms behind him to his ass and cupped it, leaning back into the touch and moaning soft, showing his throat. He saw Rumlow swallow. He liked dancing, liked private dances a lot. He knew that fact he enjoyed them made them better. He knew Rumlow would be able to see how hard he was, see his nipples pulling tight as he touched his own ass.

Rumlow let a steady gaze slide up and down Steve’s body. “You disappointed about that? Were you hoping I’d do something to make you desperate? Is that what you want?” Steve’s legs were shaking. He didn’t respond. Rumlow’s mouth tightened. “I believe I told you to do something, whore.”

Steve kept his left hand on his chest and rubbed the other over the bulge in his briefs. He took a heavy breath. “Touch me,” he said breathy and seductive, just soft. He was aching to be touched, felt sure it was noticeable in his voice. He held Rumlow’s eye.

“That the best you can do? I thought you were a professional.” His voice dropped down to something nasty. “I didn’t say ask, I said fucking beg me.”

Steve swallowed hard. He knew how to beg. He wanted to. “Please, sir, please. Touch me.” One of his own hands was inside his briefs now, fingers teasing around his hole. He pinched a nipple hard with the other. “Jesus, please,” he said, letting his voice crack with desperation. The music kept pounding. He rocked his hips in time, not really dancing anymore.

“Where do you want me to touch you?” Rumlow’s voice was cracking too, low and dark.

Steve pressed the tip of his finger into his asshole and let his head roll back, fucking into himself with the rhythm. He never did this in a private dance, usually. Never fucked himself like this. He slipped inside to the first knuckle. “Oh, sir. Touch my dick. Touch it, or, oh! My ass. Touch my ass. Put your fingers in me, sir. Christ. Please. Fuck me like that, please.”

“Nice. Very nice. You do beg pretty, don’t you, sugar?” Rumlow ran his palms up and down his thighs. “Shame about that rule isn’t it?”

“Rule?” Steve arched his back and pressed his tits into Rumlow’s face. “What rule?”

“No touching,” Rumlow whispered.

“Oh yeah.” Steve rolled his hips. “That’s right, yeah.” He’d forgotten. He’d truly forgotten and the realisation that Rumlow hadn’t, that Rumlow was not going to capitulate and touch him, was heavy, low and sudden in his chest.

“So, if I want to touch you tonight, I have to buy you properly. Pay to use you? That right?”

Steve swallowed. He rolled his hips a final time as the track stopped playing and he stood straight. “Yeah. That’s how it works. You buy my mouth, you can touch me. Not in here though. Outside the club.” As he spoke his heart beat harder. Rumlow was a cop. Telling him this was a crime. But Rumlow was also hard, tenting in his pants and Steve didn’t care what happened next as long as this didn’t end here.

“Do you want me to buy you, whore? Want me to pay to use you?” Rumlow whispered, looking up with lusty eyes. “How much for the rest of the night? To do anything I want to you?”

Steve sucked air through his nose and shook his head. “I don’t… That’s not how it works… I can do you a suck job, or a hand job if you prefer. Outside. Eighty bucks either way.”

“Eighty bucks. That’s a lot of money for a few minutes on your knees. You get to keep all that?”

Steve shook his head. “No. Club takes thirty. That’s how it works.” Steve could feel the flush on his cheeks, couldn’t hide the way his lips had swollen with desire.

Rumlow nodded. The way he was looking at Steve, Steve felt like an animal. A thing. He liked it. “Right. Right. Do you need to get fucked?”

“That’s not for sale.”

Rumlow’s arm flashed out and grabbed Steve’s face. Steve could have pulled away from it, but he didn’t. He let Rumlow take and hold his jaw tight, fingers and thumb pushing hard into his cheeks. It hurt. The pain made him squirm and pant. “You’re always avoiding the question, you stupid fucking whore. I suppose my time’s up, is it? Here -“ He slipped his free hand into his pocket and pulled out another twenty, then reached around and shoved it into the back of Steve’s briefs. “There now, surely i’ve paid enough for you to answer a simple question: Do you need to get fucked?”

Steve pressed his lips together. Rumlow was still holding his face. He shook his head. “No,” he said. “No. No.”

“I see. Okay. I was considering buying you, but if you’re not willing…” He made a soft sound in his throat. “Eager.” Rumlow let go of Steve’s face and wiped the corner of his mouth with a thumb.

Steve shivered. “Wait. You’re considering buying me? What do you mean, buying me? That’s not how this works. You can’t buy me.”

Rumlow grinned. “I can do all sorts of things, sugar. I’m a powerful man.” He shook his head a little like he was speaking to a fool. “You know who owns this place? Alexander Pierce. Owns half the city.”

“Of course I know.” 

“He’s a friend of mine,” Rumlow said, idly. “Reckon he’d do a special deal for a buddy. Especially a buddy like me who can cause a lot of trouble. Especially a buddy like me who knows he’s taking a cut from all the side action you and your pals sell outta this place. He’d fire your cute ass if I asked him to. That wouldn’t be good, would it? Can’t see you and your boyfriend getting by on just a cop’s salary.”

Steve’s eyes snapped wide. “My boyfriend? What do you know about my boyfriend?”

“Heh. Plenty, sugar. Your boyfriend’s a cop, ain’t he? James Barnes. Prettiest thing in blues. Except he ain’t wearing them lately, right? Off the street. Fucking desk jockey now, ain’t he? You miss his sexy uniform? Course you do. Fucking sick fuck like you. What do you like best, his big blue eyes, his big hard dick or his hard, hard handcuffs?”

“How do you…? How do you know about James?”

“Because he has a photo of you and him on his desk, you stupid slut. Camping or some sexy shit. Christ. So wholesome it’d keep you regular for a week. Everyone always asks, hey, Barnes is a pretty boy, he single? And the answer’s always, nah, he’s got a boyfriend. Called Steve.” Rumlow grinned and jabbed a finger. “That’s you. Course, there’s nothing telling me that if I know where to go, I can get Barnes’s fucking sweetheart to wrap his lips around my dick for a few dollars. That part took a little research.” Rumlow paused and smiled. “What I’m saying here, sugar doll, is there are plenty of ways I could control you. Plenty of ways I could make you give me exactly what I want, and yet. I ain’t gonna use any of them. I’m gonna wait for you to come to me. And I gotta admit, I’ve been thinking a lot about all the things I’m gonna do to you. When you beg me for control, when you beg me to buy you and own you and use you.” He reached up and touched Steve lightly between the tits. “That’s when I get to do anything. Anything. I. Want.”

“What?” Steve’s voice was breathless. “What do you want to do?”

Rumlow leaned forward a little and looked up at Steve, standing, shaking, over him. “What you want me to do. I know what you need." He smiled. "But if you want it, you’ll need to come to me and beg for it. As we’ve established you know how to do that.” Rumlow stood up as spoke. He shoved Steve casually aside and headed for the exit. Then turned in the doorway. “If you really wanna try and resist for a while, I’m into that. It’s hot when you act reluctant.” he said. And he left.

Steve was alone in the room. His dick was so hard he felt like just one finger grazing it would make him come. He gritted his teeth, closed his eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

Steve turned around and slumped onto the couch where Rumlow had been sitting. His skin was burning.

He touched his dick. He didn’t mean to, but he didn’t not mean to. The door had a lock, but he didn’t get up to lock it. As he jerked his dick, he thought about Rumlow coming back and watching him, watching him jerk himself. He licked his free hand slowly, watching himself in the mirrored wall. He looked good. He looked obscene. His tits shaking, his big thighs spread. Dick jutting out of his tiny briefs. He licked his palm again, watching himself, watching the flash of his tongue, then reached down and caressed the head of his dick with his slick, flat palm. He tipped his head back.

If Rumlow came back and found him like this he’d punish him, Steve thought as he curled his fingers around his dick. That thought made his thighs tremble harder. Rumlow wouldn’t let him touch himself like this, wouldn’t let him have pleasure like this. Those thoughts made his dick pulse harder and harder. He let his head roll back over the top of the couch.

Rumlow would punish him. And he wanted that. God, he wanted it. He was going to go to Rumlow and beg to be used. He knew he was. He knew it was only a matter of time.

He’d get on his knees, naked. He kneel on the ground in front of Rumlow. In the back alley. In the dirt. He’d kneel and he’d kiss Rumlow’s boots, kiss the ground he fucking walked on. He’d do it. And he’d beg. He’d beg Rumlow to give him what he needed. What only Rumlow could give him. 

Steve bucked up hard into his hand. Close. So quick. He was right on his edge when a voice said, “Steve?” 

Steve opened his eyes. Sam stood smirking in the doorway. Steve couldn’t speak.

“You want…” Sam looked down for a second then up again. “…you want a hand?”

“Sam, I…” Steve panted, but it was too late. He jerked into his hand and came. Ashamed of being caught. Of being watched. Of being so into that.

Sam was quick across the room, and his mouth was on Steve’s before Steve had stopped shaking. He’d come hard. Sam held him through the aftershocks, straddling Steve’s lap, and Sam’s mouth tasted good and familiar and forbidden.

Steve reached for Sam’s dick, still panting, high from his orgasm.  
Sam bucked into the touch. He was hard. “Christ, Steve, fucking Christ.” Sam slapped Steve’s hand off his cock. “Not that. Go on. Suck me off. Do it.” Sam put his hands on Steve’s shoulder and flexed as if he was about to stand up. To stand over Steve and thrust into his mouth.

Even though he’d just come, this demand was turning Steve on, but he forced himself to put his hands on Sam’s waist. “I can’t, bud. You know I can’t. I’m with Bucky now.”

“Okay.” Sam traced a finger down Steve’s chest. “That lucky fucker.”

Steve laughed like it was a joke. Like the heat between them was a joke, like the way they both wanted each other - still - was funny. Steve shifted. It wasn’t funny. Bucky’d be really hurt if he knew they were joking about it.

“What’s the deal with you two?” Sam said, still tracing Steve’s chest. “You can’t fool around with me, even though you’re a stripper and you suck it for money?”

Steve cocked his head. “That’s how it works. Don’t matter if it’s a trick. Ain’t real. It’s different with someone…” Steve swallowed. Sam suddenly seemed so fucking close, his hands on Steve’s body so warm. “Someone I could really want.”

Sam was still grinning but he dropped Steve’s gaze and looked at the floor. 

It was a minute before Sam looked up, and then he said, “I’d pay for that sweet mouth again. If that’s what it took.”

Steve smiled. “Maybe another time.”

Sam nodded and his grip on Steve’s hips tightened. “He fuck you good, though, Bucky? He give you what you need?”

“Yeah. Course. You’ve seen him right? And he’s a fucking cop. Wears the uniform sometimes.”

“I didn’t ask if he was hot. I asked if he saw you right. I know what you need, remember. God, Steve, it was so hot the way you liked to be hit and put on your knees.” Sam shook his head a little, like this was a sweet, sweet memory. “You’re so hot, buddy. The stuff you like. You getting that at home? I know you need it.”

Steve didn’t answer.

 

*

A week passed. A week of late shifts and blurry mornings. Of day-sleeping and rushed kisses with Bucky. Of dreaming of Rumlow, Steve’s cock heavy on his thigh when he woke in a mixture of guilt and thick pleasure.

Chester was in tonight, which meant at some point Chester would buy a dance from Steve. He always did. And Chester always tried to touch him. There was the rule, of course, about that, but no one was really going to ban Chester for it, an old guy who had been coming here regularly since forever. Since before Steve had worked here. 

Chester had winked at Steve three times tonight. And Steve sighed knowing that, at some point, he was going to have to go into a booth with Chester and dance and Chester was going to put two flat rough palms on Steve’s butt and Steve was going to remind him of the rules yet again and Chester was going to apologise and tell Steve, for the hundredth time that he used to be a Colonel in the army or something. That he fucking fought in some fucking war and that was why he liked Steve, liked the uniform, liked the tiny camo briefs and dog tags better.

Steve wouldn’t mind if Chester would just choke and actually pay to get jerked off or have Steve’s mouth on his dick. But Chester had never mentioned such a thing. And Steve sure as hell wasn’t going to bring it up first. Rules were rules and Chester might be able to bend a few, but Steve definitely couldn’t. 

Steve was studiously avoiding Chester, lurking in a corner of the club, when he felt a sudden hot breath in his ear. In the crowd, he hadn’t even noticed someone had come to stand next to him. But as soon as he did realise, he knew who it was and the hair stood up sharp on his arms. Rumlow turned his head, lips close. Steve heard a soft breath and then, words. “Missed me, slut?”

Steve kept looking right ahead, across the club at Chester, sat at a table alone. “Would you…?” His voice shook. He paused and swallowed. “Would you like to buy a private dance, Officer Rumlow?”

“Is that what you really want to say to me?” Rumlow’s breath was damp and warm. Steve still didn’t look at him, but Rumlow was so close he could feel the heat from his body. He gasped, almost shook, as Rumlow reached over and ran a hand over his bare chest. Steve didn’t say anything about not touching. “Well,” Rumlow’s hand slid up Steve’s body and stopped to take his chin. He turned Steve’s head gently and finally Steve looked at him. Nasty smile. Devil smile. “Well?”

“No sir,” Steve said. Rumlow’s mouth was so close they must look as if they were about to kiss.

“Then what?”

“Please sir,” Steve whispered, “arrest me. Arrest me again.”

Rumlow cocked an amused eyebrow. “Arrest you?” HIs fingers were on Steve’s jaw. He stroked his chin. “For what?”

“For asking you…” Steve was panting, breath breaking up his words. “For asking you to pay to fuck me.”

“That right, sugar?” Rumlow’s voice was a slow drawl. “You did that, did you? Again. And you want me to take you in? Want my handcuffs? They’re in my pocket. Want to get them out for me?” Rumlow half-smiled.

Steve shivered. They weren’t alone, weren’t even in private, just crammed tight in a corner of the heaving club. Rumlow’s voice was low, but carrying over the heavy bass.

“Go on,” Rumlow said. “Take them out of my pocket.”

Steve nodded and slipped a hand between their bodies into the pocket of Rumlow’s tight jeans. He gasped as his fingers slipped over the smooth metal. Rumlow sighed softly. Behind the cuffs Steve could sense the shape of Rumlow’s dick, hard and ready, but he didn’t even care. That wasn’t the thing. The handcuffs were the thing. He drew them slowly out of Rumlow’s pocket.

Carefully, Rumlow took the cuffs from Steve, fingertips brushing his. “Nice,” he said, “now, stand here for me.” And he guided Steve by the shoulder, stepping out of the way so Steve could press his face to the wall beside them.

A desperate noise spilled from Steve’s mouth as he let Rumlow move him into place. Rumlow pressed up close behind him. His groin to Steve’s ass. Steve arched back into it.

Rumlow pushed Steve back with a hand between Steve’s shoulder blades. “Yeah, yeah,” he said, his voice hard and snide. “I get it. I know what you’re selling, you piece of shit. Just keep your fucking ass to yourself.” Rumlow pressed the metal of the cuffs to one of Steve’s bare upper arm. Steve gasped at the cool feel of it.

Slowly, Rumlow drew the cuffs down Steve’s arm to his wrist. Steve moved it into place behind his back, gasping for it, desperate to be restrained like this, helpless in front of everyone. His hard cock was jammed between him and the red velvet wall. Rumlow rubbed the handcuffs over Steve’s wrist again, but he didn’t put them on him, just slid the smooth metal against Steve’s skin. “You want these don’t you?” Rumlow said, pressing closer so Steve could feel Rumlow’s hard dick against his ass. You’re wet in your fucking panties for them, aren’t you, slut?” 

“Jesus.” Steve swallowed. “Please, please.” Steve’s dick was hard. “Put them on me. Arrest me, sir. Please.”

“Arrest you? Take you to the precinct, yeah? You fucking slut. You wanna know what happens to whores we bring down there on my watch?” Rumlow opened on of the handcuff bracelet and slipped it around Steve’s wrist. “Because it ain’t fucking fun.”

Steve moaned, “What? What?” as Rumlow licked over his ear, making his begging end in a hopeless moan.

“Never mind.” Rumlow whispered, hot in his ear. “I’ll tell you another time.” And he slipped the bracelet off Steve’s wrist.

“What?” Steve spun around. Rumlow was stepping back, away from him. “What are you doing?”

“It’s pretty, sugar. It’s very pretty.” Rumlow was slipping the cuffs back into his pocket. “But it’t not what I told you to do, is it?”

_But if you want it, you’ll need to come to me and beg for it._

“What? Wait. What do you want me to do?”

Rumlow winked. “What you’re desperate to do.” And he turned and vanished into the packed dance floor.

 

*

Steve finished at 2am. He showered and went to his locker - a tiny towel around his hips - to dress and collect his personal things. His phone was in the locker. He sometimes carried it around with him, depending on what he was wearing and how he was feeling, but tonight he hadn’t.

When he checked his phone had a text from a number he didn’t recognise. When he read it, he caught his breath. He knew instantly who it was from. It said, “Gonna give you another chance, whore. Freedom Motel. Room 47.” 

He knew who it was from and knew he ought to go home to Bucky. Bucky, who’d be sleeping, but would roll over in bed when Steve slipped into it and wrap his hot, hard-soft body around Steve’s cold one. 

He ought to go home to Bucky, but he wouldn’t. He knew he wouldn’t. And he was already finding a map of the hotel on his phone, cursing the club’s shitty wifi, dick stirring under the towel hanging off his hips.

*

It was just after three in the morning when Steve knocked on the door of the motel room. He waited, anxious, and then Rumlow opened the door in a cop’s uniform. And Steve…

… Steve looked at him. At the hat, the badge on his arm, the jacket with bright buttons, then he let himself look down - the fucking boots, shiny as glass. “Jesus,” Steve said on ragged breath. “Jesus. Fuck.”

Rumlow smiled. “Wow. Your fucking face.”

“Where did you…?” Steve’s mouth was dry. “Where did you get this?”

“This old thing?” Rumlow gestured down his body. “It’s mine. My dress uniform. I’m a cop, sugar. Did you forget? You remembered my handcuffs well enough.”

Steve was swallowing over and over, but he couldn’t seem to get enough liquid into his mouth to speak properly. “Jesus, can I…? Can I just…? Oh.” And he couldn’t, couldn’t help himself. Steve looked into Rumlow’s eyes and sank slowly onto one knee and then both. Kneeled in front of Rumlow, right there in the doorway. Visible to anyone who might pass by in the parking lot. Lost to hopeless, helpless desire.

Rumlow looked down at him, his eyes a little glazed, breath hitching slightly. “You got something to say to me, slut?”

Steve swallowed again. Hard. “Yes,” he said. “Yes I do. Please, sir, god, sir, please use me. Do whatever you want to me. Oh.”

And Steve lowered his head and kissed the toe of Rumlow’s boot.

Steve felt Rumlow’s hips twitch above him. When he looked up again, Rumlow was pulling his thick wallet out of his back pocket. “How much?”

“What?”

Rumlow rolled his eyes. “For the night.”

Steve took a steady breath. “You’re paying me?”

“Sure. You’re a whore, right?”

*

After Rumlow had let Steve in, locking the door behind him, he went over to the bathroom. He turned, backlit in the doorway. “If I’m wearing my work clothes, don’t you think you should wear yours too, sugar?”

Steve was standing by the closed door. Leaning up against the wall beside it. He felt like his legs alone weren’t enough to keep him upright. “What?”

“Dumb whore.” Rumlow glanced from Steve’s face to his dick to his face. As he closed the door he said, “Get your clothes off, kneel by the bed.”

Steve’s heart was banging so hard in his chest it was almost impossible to fumble free of his t-shirt and sweat pants. When he’d managed it, he shoved the tangled bunch of garments onto a chair by the TV and got to his knees beside the double bed. Blood was rushing in his ears. He couldn’t think and he didn’t want to. His dick was hard, weeping, flush to his stomach. 

Rumlow emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of musky scent. Steve looked down at the carpet. He listened to the squeak of Rumlow’s boots as he came around the bed and sat beside where Steve was kneeling.

“Look at me.”

Steve looked up. Rumlow had removed his uniform jacket and sat over him in sharp blue shirt sleeves. Steve pressed his lips together.

“Want me to touch you now, whore?”

Steve moved his jaw, mouthed silently once or twice before he could speak. “You…” he managed, then stopped and swallowed hard. “I know you’re gonna.”

“Really?” 

Steve blinked. Swallowed and blinked again. “Of course you’re going to fucking touch me. You paid for it.”

“I also paid you to beg for it.”

Steve nodded. This was a game. Just a game. A game he knew how to play. He lowered his chin to his chest and looked at the carpet. It was red and brown with a pattern of swirls that didn’t hide the stains. “Please touch me, sir.” His dick jerked as he said it.

“Where do you want me to touch you?”

“Jesus, I-“ Steve looked up. “I don’t know. Please. Just fucking touch me.” The note of desperation in his own voice made him writhe on the carpet.

“Yeah?” Rumlow reached out and touched Steve’s jaw with one finger. Steve gasped and turned his head so Rumlow’s fingertip slipped across his face. He caught it in his mouth and sucked it. Rumlow pressed it in deeper. Deep into Steve’s wet mouth. Steve sighed around it.

Rumlow slid his finger out to the tip and then in again. And again. Steve stared into Rumlow’s eyes. Saw his lust lighting there. He’d seen men stare at him full of lust many, many times, but it still excited him from time to time. This was one of those times. 

After a few moments, Rumlow slid his finger right out and let it rest on Steve’s lower lip. “Tell me what you want, sugar,” he said, softly, sweetly. Like a lover. 

Steve whimpered. “Please kiss me.”

Rumlow raised his eyebrows. “I dunno. Whores don’t kiss tricks.”

“I don’t care. Please.”

Rumlow slipped his finger down to Steve’s chin and pinched it, adjusting his face upwards a little. He looked thoughtful. “If I’m paying you, I don’t kiss you. Them’s your rules.”

“Then don’t pay me. Take your money back and kiss me.” Steve knew how he sounded, how desperate he sounded.

“Really? Take the money back?”

“Yeah, god yeah. It’s in my pocket.” Steve pulled away from Rumlow’s grip and jerked his head towards the chair where he’d left his clothes. “Fucking take it. Fucking kiss me. Kiss me, sir.”

Rumlow smiled and slid forward. He put his hands on Steve’s shoulders and slid off the bed onto his lap. Straddling him. “Interesting,” Rumlow said, twining his arms around Steve’s shoulders. “This is gonna be so much fun, sugar.” 

Rumlow leant forward. A little. Then a little more. He quirked a smile. Steve’s heart was hammering. And Rumlow kissed him. The feeling of Rumlow’s lips, Rumlow’s tongue, shot through Steve’s body right to his dick - trapped now by Rumlow’s heavy groin. Steve ground up against the heavy fabric, moaning in Rumlow’s mouth, as Rumlow pressed his tongue deep with a low chuckle of delight.

They kissed until Steve’s hips were jerking and jerking and he was all but rubbing off on Rumlow’s own erection. 

Rumlow pulled out of the kiss and little, and snarled into Steve’s mouth. “Keep that fucking dick under control, you pathetic fucking slut. You’ll get what you need.” He moved to bite across Steve’s jawline. Steve moaned, doing his best to keep his hips still, which became more difficult when Rumlow jerked Steve’s head back by a handful of hair and kissed his neck. 

Steve moaned again, longer and louder. Rumlow sucked at Steve’s neck and bit down hard. Steve yelled out in pain, bucking his hips up as Rumlow chuckled into Steve’s neck. “You like that, sugar?” 

“Yeah. Yeah I do, sir.” Steve’s words ended in a whimper.

“Want me to do it again?”

“Yeah. God, yeah,” Steve breathed, rolling his head back further.

“Beg me.” Rumlow whispered to his skin then licked long and wet over the spot where he’d just bitten.

Steve swallowed. He bit his bottom lip a second, then said, “Bite me again, sir. Please sir. Harder. Make it hurt.”

“You like it to hurt?” Rumlow nudged at the sore spot on Steve’s neck with his tongue.

Steve gasped. “Yes, sir. I do, yes.”

“Interesting,” Rumlow said, and bit into Steve’s neck again. Steve screamed. His dick jerked. 

As Rumlow pulled back and licked over Steve’s skin again, Steve moaned. He rolled his head even further back in Rumlow’s grip, presenting as much of his neck as he could. “God,” he breathed. “More. More, please. Hurt me.”

“Yeah?” Steve could hear in Rumlow’s voice, the smile against his skin. “It’ll leave a mark if I do it again.”

“I don’t, I…” Steve took a breath, then said, carefully, “Don’t. Don’t leave any marks.”

Rumlow licked at Steve’s neck. “You’re a bad boy, aren’t you, sugar? You shouldn’t be doing this. I ain’t even paying.”

Something in Steve’s head cleared a little. He shook his hair from Rumlow’s grip and righted his head, looking Rumlow in the eye. “How,” he said. “How did you get my number?”

“What’s that, sugar?” Rumlow said, rubbing the back of his thumb along Steve’s jawline.

“How did you get my number?”

“Think about it, you dumb slut.” Rumlow slid his hand down Steve’s bare chest and played over one of his nipples. “Your boyfriend got your number?”

“Of course-“ Steve swallowed a moan as Rumlow pinched hard. “Of course he has.”

“And do I work in the same building as your boyfriend? How hard do you think it is to lift a phone off and desk, find a number _Stevie_ and drop the phone back before Loverboy even notices it gone?”

“I don’t, I don’t know.” Steve whimpered as Rumlow twisted his pinched nipple.

“Course you don’t. You think about cops all the time, but that’s not what you think about. Is it? You think about this uniform. These fucking boots and shiny buttons.” Rumlow moved his face closer, flicked his tongue over Steve’s shaking lips. “Authority. That’s what you like, right?”

Steve nodded. Dumb with lust again. Losing the fight.

“You think about what I said to you at the club. What happens to whores we bring into the precinct when I’m leading the shift, right? What do you think happens?”

“I, I. Please sir.” Steve didn’t know what he was saying. What he was doing.

“I could take you there right now. Cuffed. I wouldn’t let you get dressed. Say I’d found you nude, stripped for use. I got some men. Good men. Good, hard men and they know what you need. What your sort need. We’d keep you in over night. Naked and chained down. We’d all take you. Take your mouth, your ass, jerk over your face.” Rumlow’s hand slipped further between their bodies, round behind Steve to his ass, stroked down, stroked over his hole. “We’d make you beg for it. You want that? You want a whole precinct of bad cops like me to rape you all night? Leave you screaming for more?”

Steve made a soft whimpering noise and pressed back, tried to press himself onto Rumlow’s teasing finger. 

“I think that’s a yes, isn’t it, whore? Shame you don’t sell this.” He slid his finger around the rim of Steve’s hole. 

“You’re not,” Steve gasped, “you’re not paying.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot.” Rumlow chuckled. “You’re not working, are you?” Rumlow slipped his finger inside Steve a little. “You’re just cheating on your sweet, handsome boyfriend.” Rumlow drew his finger out, popped it quickly into his own mouth and then pressed it back in wet. Steve gasped. “Now say it,” Rumlow whispered.

“Say what?” Steve said, whining at the feel of Rumlow teasing his asshole.

“Say you’re cheating. Say you’re cheating on your boyfriend. Say it.”

“”I…” Steve shook his head, but at the same time he pushed back onto Rumlow’s finger, taking it deeper. “What? I can’t.”

“Say. It.” Rumlow drew his finger almost fully out. “Say it, or leave. That’s your choice. Do as I tell you, or get up get dressed and go home.”

Steve’s eyes stretched saucer-wide in horror. “Please. Officer Rumlow, this has nothing to do with him, or anything, please…” Steve took a breath through his nose and whimpered as he exhaled. “Please I…” Rumlow said nothing. Steve took another, longer breath. “Yes sir,” he said. “Yes sir. I am cheating sir. I’m cheating on my boyfriend, sir.”

“Say his name.”

“Please.” Steve was close to sobbing now, half-broken. “Don’t.”

“Say his fucking name.”

“Bucky,” Steve sobbed out, a hard lump in his throat. And as Rumlow fucked his finger back inside, so deep Steve felt a flash of pleasure, Steve whimpered, grinding onto it. “I am cheating on Bucky, sir. I am cheating on Bucky with you, sir.”

“Nice,” Rumlow sighed, twisting his finger once more over Steve’s pleasure spot, then pulling it away. “Now get out, sugar.”

“What?” Steve jolted. “You said if I said it… you said I had to leave if I didn’t say it. But I said it.” He lowered his voice. He knew he sounded pathetic. “I said it.”

“Yeah, I know.” Rumlow brought his sticky finger in front of Steve and wiped it slowly across Steve’s upper lip. “But I’m tired. And my pants are fucking covered in your slut-filth, and I need to sleep. So get dressed and get out. Go home to Bucky. See if you can look him in the eye.”

*

Steve rode his bike around town for hours. By the time he got home, Bucky had left for work. He took the longest shower, jerked off and went to bed. 

It was his day off. He slept, on and off, until after six. Then wandered into the kitchen and found Bucky cooking pasta. 

“Hey, babe,” Bucky said, turning, smiling. “You hungry? Grab that parmesan from the fridge wouldja?” Steve paused in the doorway, dumbstruck. It was as if nothing had happened. 

“Stevie? Steve? C’mon. I ain’t doing everything myself.”

They made dinner together, and as they ate it, Steve felt like he was coming down from the weirdest dream. But it had just been a dream. He was here now. Back with Bucky. Safe and calm.

After dinner they went to watch TV. 

*

“I’m going to bed,” said Bucky, hauling himself off the couch like a 100 year old man. It was only nine. They’d been watching TV for an hour. Not really talking. Not much to say.

Steve looked up and smiled. “Good idea. Shall I come with ya?” He said it eagerly, with a tiny snap of his hips.

“I dunno.” Bucky had dark circles under his eyes and his skin looked pinched and thin. “Maybe not tonight.” He made a little chuckling sound. “Surely you’re not short of attention, babe?”

Steve tipped his head back and ran a hand through his hair. He snapped his hips again and looked at Bucky, biting on his bottom lip, fluttering his lashes. His nipples were hard and he knew it was obvious. “That’s not the same. It’s not you. I always want your attention. So much, Buck.” Steve rolled his pelvis against the couch, slid one hand under his shirt. “C’mon.”

Bucky exhaled. “Babe, don’t. Don’t try that slutty stuff on me. You ain’t at work.”

“What?” Steve straightened, quickly, embarrassed. He put his hand down. “I wasn’t. This ain’t stripper stuff, Buck. I was just thinking about you. You make me feel hot, okay. That’s all. Christ.”

Bucky smiled thinly and shook his head. “Sorry. Forget it. Forget that. I’m just tired. I got another 12 hour shift tomorrow and I really want to get some sleep.” He leant down to kiss Steve on the temple, but Steve pulled away.

“Okay. I get it. I’m sorry I don’t have a real job like you.”

“What? Oh Jesus, don’t. What you do is a real job, babe. It’s skilled and strenuous. It’s dancing, for fuck’s sake. You’re a dancer.”

“I’m not a dancer, Buck. I blow old men in the back seat of their cars for fifties. The dancing’s just advertising. It’s my mouth they pay for.”

Bucky rubbed his forehead. “Please, Steve. I need to sleep. Can we talk about this in the morning?”

“Sure. You’ll be gone before I wake up.” Steve turned away and pulled out his phone. He heard Bucky leaving the room and didn’t look around.

Steve’s phone had vibrated softly in his pocket while he’d been sitting on the couch with Bucky. He had three unread text messages.

He opened the first one. It said, “Want to watch you jerk off, whore.’

Steve swung his legs up onto the couch and stretched out. He pulled the blanket off the back of it and spread it out over himself, slipped his hand into his sweat pants. He picked up his phone again. The second text said, “You’ve gotta be naked for it. I need to see that slutty body. How much you charge for that? Or do I still get you for free?” Steve’s dick jerked in his hand.

He swallowed and stroked it as he and opened the third message.

It was from Bucky. It said, “Sorry, babe. I love you. Come upstairs.”

Steve deleted all the messages, turned off the light and rolled over on the couch.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Lingua Mortua and Molly Noble for the speedy betas on this one. And sorry for the wait, cop fetishists.

It was six days before Rumlow messaged Steve again. And then it was another cheap hotel room at the end of a long shift. Steve arrived tired, not sure why he was there.

“Yeah?” Rumlow said, when Steve knocked on the motel room door. He pushed it open. The room was dark and Rumlow was sitting by the window, his angular face lit by the street lighting outside and the glow of the tablet in his hands. He was sat in a soft squashy armchair. There were soft sounds coming from the tablet. A man’s voice, panting and moaning. 

“That porn?” Steve said.

Rumlow grinned. “Come watch it with me.”

Steve walked over. There was nowhere for him to sit, so he knelt on the floor next to Rumlow’s chair. On the tablet’s screen a muscular blond guy was getting fucked by an older, dark haired man. Dark hair was really pounding the blond, whose face was close to the camera as he moaned and twisted in ecstasy. 

Rumlow said, “They remind you of anyone?”

“I guess.” The blond didn’t look much like Steve to him, too round in the face, too soft. The dark haired man looked a lot like Rumlow though.

“Shame you missed the start,” Rumlow said. “The top’s got a dick like a fucking baseball bat.”

Steve shivered. “Okay.” He looked at the blond’s face again. The dark haired man was fucking him so hard he kept jolting towards the camera. 

“Yeah, you love it though, don’t you?” Rumlow said to the screen. “Take it, fucking take it bitch.” He laughed.

After a couple more moments the top reached over and put his hands around the blond guy’s neck. The blond guy choked a little, but his expression became even more rapturous. Rumlow nudged Steve, “What do you think about that, sugar?”

“About what?”

“Being fucked like that.”

Steve shrugged. “Bit much, I guess. If his dick’s that great, why does he need to do all that rough stuff?”

Rumlow laughed again and scratched Steve behind the ear like he was a dog. “Yeah, sure. Shame you don’t fuck, whore. I’d love to fuck you like that.”

“Yeah?” Steve said, hoping his voice sounded even.

“Yeah. Handcuff you to the bed. Rim you until you were fucking screaming for it.”

Steve swallowed. He was hard in his jeans. Not from the porn, from the idea of Rumlow and him, like that. “I don’t… I can’t…” he managed.

Rumlow used a finger to turn Steve’s chin, making him look up and meet Rumlow’s eye. ““Don’t look nervous, sugar. I ain’t gonna force you to do nothing you don’t wanna. But I reckon you wanna get your clothes off, right?”

Steve took a breath. “Fine,” he said as on the tablet’s blue-white screen the top grunted and came.

He didn’t think he’d be so lost, so fast. And he was naked in front of people he didn’t know every night, but being naked in front of Rumlow meant something. Meant something terrible. Meant something amazing. Steve stood and stripped while Rumlow watched, lazily, barely interested, then knelt back on the floor at his feet. And, just like that, Steve was aching and desperate - just from that. Rumlow wasn’t wearing his uniform this time, just jeans and a tee, but Steve was still panting for him, so easily.

“So,” Rumlow said, teasing his fingers over Steve’s jaw. “I don’t get to fuck you?”

“No,” said Steve. “No, you can’t fuck me, no.” He shook his head and thought of Bucky. Bucky who had texted him that afternoon from his desk, the desk that he now knew was only a few feet from Rumlow’s, texted him just to say, “Hey, babe. Miss ya. Love ya.”

“What can you do for me then, fucktoy?” Rumlow had one finger under Steve’s chin, curled, the point of the second knuckle pressing into the soft flesh behind his jawbone.

Steve looked up. He wetted his lips and hoped they looked appealing. “I can suck you off. I’ll suck you. Let me.” He paused and looked up at Rumlow’s face. Rumlow raised his eyebrows. “Please,” said Steve. “Please. Let me.”

“Huh.” Rumlow cocked his head. “What did you say that cost. Fifty?”

Steve swallowed. “Eighty.”

“Nah,” Rumlow shook his head. “Eighty’s with the club’s cut. You just take fifty. As you’re on my premises, I’ll be the one taking thirty off the top, whore.”

Steve frowned. “You’re gonna pay yourself for me sucking your dick?” 

“No.” Steve had barely got the sentence out when Rumlow barked that out and backhanded him around the face. Steve righted his head, gasping and Rumlow caught his jaw and squeezed. “Don’t you fucking talk to me that way again, whore.” Steve was panting. The sharp merciless way Rumlow had hit him was thrilling. “Or did you like that? Did you provoke me on purpose?” He grinned. “Oh you fucking filthy fucking slut. You did. You like to know who’s boss, huh?”

Steve didn’t reply. He wished he could turn his head away. He knew Rumlow knew.

“There’s easier ways,” Rumlow said, his voice edged with charm. “Okay. I see. So suck my dick, bitch. See what that gets you.”

Steve reached up. His hands shook as he took Rumlow’s dick out of his pants. It was heavy. He’d expected it to be hard, but it was only halfway. So Steve dipped his head and kissed the tip, tasting salt there. The scent of it. The deep musk - almost hard-edged - made him moan, just a soft noise, slipping hopelessly out of him, and then another, darker, deeper as he swallowed Rumlow’s dick right down, the way he was practised at doing, lips slipping the entire length of it as it grew hard.

Steve sucked, running his tongue around the base of Rumlow’s dick, feeling his own spit start to run down his chin and Rumlow tangled his hands in Steve’s hair with a deep noise of pleasure. Steve liked hearing a noise like that from Rumlow, a tiny loss of control, a little crack, and more than that, desire, pure desire caused by him. It made Steve’s dick pulse again. He was so hard. A thick press against his tight belly. Hot and slippery and needing to be touched. But he didn’t dare. He’d never be allowed. Steve took his hand from the nasty carpet and put it on his thigh, close to his dick and he moaned around Rumlow at the frustration of not daring to touch himself.

Rumlow, it seemed, liked that. His hands moved on Steve’s head, quickly winding in the hair behind Steve’s ears. Rumlow made a nasty threatening sound then and jolted himself up into Steve’s mouth, hard and fast. Steve made another sound, half a yelp of surprise, half, what? Arousal. Arousal and need. 

Rumlow held him hard, controlling every moment of Steve’s head as he fucked - hard - into Steve’s mouth. Hips snapping, smacking into Steve’s face. Then, at the top of a particularly hard, deep thrust, Rumlow froze - held his cock up and Steve’s face down. Rumlow’s dick was right down Steve’s throat. The thick weight of Rumlow blocked his airway completely. Steve couldn’t breathe. He struggled and fought, desperate, while his dick grew harder and harder, wet, drooling onto the carpet.

Steve’s vision was going black when Rumlow let him free with a nasty bark of a laugh. Steve pulled away, gasping. “My dick too much for you, whore?”

“Don’t,” Steve spluttered, spit and pre-come running down his chin. “Don’t do that.”

“Nah? Why not, sugar?”

“I don’t like it,” Steve said. He wanted to wipe off his face. He was sure he wasn’t allowed such a luxury, so he let the sticky mess drip down onto his chest.

Rumlow sneered. “Yeah, yeah you do, slut.”

“What? I don’t. Don’t do it. I don’t like it when I can’t breathe.”

“You like it too much, you mean. You love it.” Rumlow leaned closer. “You want it.” His pupils were big, black with lust. He must be close to coming. He had a hand wrapped around his dick, holding it. “Say you love it.”

“What? Why? Why would I do that?”

Rumlow reached out with his spare hand and caught Steve’s chin. He voice was sweet suddenly, sweet and soft. “Oh sugar. Oh, hey, sugar, honey, baby, slut, stop thinking. Stop fucking thinking. It’s just you and me here. Why pretend? Why pretend you don’t want it, when we both know you do?”

Steve swallowed. “What?”

“Ask me to do it again, whore,” Rumlow said, letting go of Steve’s face and punctuating his favourite pet name with a light slap to Steve’s cheek.

And Steve felt like he didn’t have a choice. “Please,” Steve whispered. “Please, sir. Do it again.”

Rumlow smiled. “Do what, sugar?”

“Fuck my face. Hard. So hard I can’t breathe.”

“And why should I do that?”

“Because,” Steve whispered. “Because I fucking want it.”

Rumlow liked that. Rumlow snarled. He grabbed hold of Steve again, gripping the same handfuls of hair behind his ears and shoved his dick, fast and hard into Steve’s mouth. He thrust right in and pulled out four times, fast, while Steve struggled to get his balance on the floor. Steve moaned loud and long and Rumlow shoved himself right down Steve’s throat and held it again. Steve gasped and spluttered and Rumlow kept him there until he saw stars, then let go and thrust hard again.

Steve had nothing. It was all he could do not to fall backwards from the force of it. He kept thinking, over and over, about how Rumlow had made him ask for this. How thrilling and terrifying that was.

When Rumlow let him go, his eyes were burning.

There was no pause this time. Rumlow didn’t let go of him. He shoved back in and fucked his face again hard. This time Steve could hear Rumlow’s panting. He was close. Steve knew it, and, as he thought, Rumlow shoved in and held again, and Steve couldn’t breathe again. And, this time, Steve came, cock jerking, untouched against his belly.

He heard Rumlow laughing as he pulled back, thrust in, and started to come himself, while Steve was still shaking.

A moment later, Rumlow shoved Steve off and stood up. He zipped up his jeans and walked around Steve, still lying on the floor, shaking and ruined, naked. Rumlow went to the dresser and picked up his stuffed wallet. 

“So,” he said, “fifty dollars.”

Steve looked up, “What?”

“Sweet Jesus, look at you. I thought you were a professional. One suck job always leave you in this fucking state?”

Steve got back up onto his knees. “No. He took a breath. “Not all of them are like you,” he said, weakly.

“Yeah,” Rumlow was smiling happily. “Too right, they ain’t.” He came back over the bed with a fifty and sat down in front of Steve. “Now, sugar, you gotta know, you do that again and you get my belt.”

“Sir, I….” Steve frowned. “What? Do what?”

“Don’t give me that stammering bullshit. Just say you understand. Next time you come without permission you get my belt.”

“You don’t want me to come?”

“Not without begging me for permission, no.”

Steve gasped. Every time Rumlow talked about making him beg he lost his breath. “What?” he managed. “But, sir. Do you mean?”

Rumlow was so close to him. He put a finger on Steve’s sticky mouth. “You better be sure about whatever you’re gonna say next, sugar.” And he lifted the finger away, taking it to his mouth and sucking it.

“Sir, I got a boyfriend, sir. Do you mean come, when I’m with you? I can come with him, right.” Steve’s lips were shaking. Why was he even asking this? How would Rumlow even know?

“Oh.” Rumlow grinned. “Your boyfriend. You’re thinking about him. That’s funny, that you even care about that. You know your boyfriend talks about you, right? After a long day, we go to the bar and we all talk shit about our lives. We’re cops, sugar. We got each other’s backs. We tell each other everything.”

Something inside Steve went cold. “What? Bucky doesn’t talk about me at work. Not like that?”

“Don’t he? Yeah, maybe he doesn’t offer it up, so much. But everyone’s curious. He’s the only fag in the precinct. Men get curious about how that goes down. Want to know if men are better at sucking dick, all that crap.”

Steve frowned. the semen and spit on his face was drying, pulling his skin. “He’s the only fag? The only, what, the only gay guy? What about you?”

“I don’t talk about this shit at work. Now, what I’m saying is, I know it ain’t all sunshine and kittens with you and James. He’s told me all about it. So, sugar, is it really gonna be a problem keeping your dick for me when you two don’t fuck anymore?”

“You don’t,” Steve shivered. Rumlow knew far too much about his homelife. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah I do. So you pay attention to me, whore. You don’t touch yourself. You don’t come without my permission. Or you get my fucking belt.”

“Sir, please.”

“Shush.” Rumlow shook his head. “You don’t know what you’re saying. It ain’t so bad. You like control. You like pain. You’re gonna beg for this belt one day.”

Steve narrowed his eyes. “What? I don’t. Why would I beg you to hit me with a belt?”

Rumlow dropped his voice. “Cuz you need it, slut. Daddy’s belt. That’s why you’re gonna beg for it. On your knees. An’ you’re gonna be trying to tug it outta my jeans cuz you gotta have it that much. You’re gonna crawl to me with it in your mouth. You’re gonna end up wanting my belt even more than you want to get fucked.”

Steve tried to say something, but he didn’t say anything.

“Shush, sugar, baby, it’s just me here. Remember, you don’t have to pretend like you don’t want it when we both know you do.”

“I, I don’t… I don’t want.” Rumlow caught Steve’s chin.

“Try again, sugar. I know you can be good. I know you can. You need this. You need discipline. You know you fucking do. Whore like you. Fucking slut. Up on that stage. Offering it up to anyone. Get in fucking line, boys. Getting hard in my fucking handcuffs. Hard if anyone touches you, looks at you. You need control, you fucking slut.” Rumlow slipped his hand down to Steve’s neck. “Say it.”

Steve shivered, he couldn’t help himself. “I need discipline, sir. I do. Please.”

“Yeah, you do. You gonna obey me? Like I’m your fucking master? Do everything I say?” Rumlow moved his hand on Steve’s neck, tightening his grip a little.

“Yes sir, yes,” Steve gasped.

“Good.” Rumlow snatched his hand away. “Now get out.”

“What?” Steve felt a sudden lump in his throat. “I want to stay.”

Rumlow shook his head. “No you don’t.”

“I want…”

“What do you want?”

Steve didn’t know what he wanted, how to explain. He said, “I want you to want me.”

Rumlow cocked his head like he was listening. “Good. Keep going.”

“I want you to want me so much you can’t help yourself. So much that you say it’s my fault. I want you to say I’m asking for it because I’m a slut and I’m a whore. I want you to want me so much you force me. Follow me home and make me do whatever you want. I want,” Steve swallowed hard, “I want to belong to you, to be yours. I want you to force me to be yours.”

Rumlow pushed the fifty into Steve’s mouth. “Ain’t you cute, sugar? Now fuck off. And work on being that hot for me.”

 

*

Steve slept until three the following afternoon. He had the night off and he was preparing to spend it doing as little as possible and most definitely not thinking about anything at all. He was surprised, when he wandered down the hallway, to find Bucky in the living room, grinning at him. The living room which was was spotless. 

The whole apartment had been getting into a terrible state with both of them working long hours, but now it was bright and clean and sparkling. It even smelt good. And there were beers on the table and a bowl of chips.

“Hey Buck,” Steve said. Bucky had been working 12 hour days all week. Steve hadn’t seen him at home for days. “How come you’re here? Haven’t you got a big case on? The internal corruption thing?” Steve wandered and sat on the couch. He took a big handful of chips. He was hungry.

“Thought I oughta take a day off. We’ve nearly closed the case on that fucker. All kinds of back handers and shit going on, but the evidence is piling up. Looks like we’re going to get him in a day or two. Putting a phone tap on him next week. So I checked your rota and saw you were off today, thought I’d grab some downtime while I still can.” He reached out and patted Steve’s knee. 

“Awesome,” Steve picked up the remote. “Wanna watch a movie?” He flicked around and found Hercules playing. He grinned. “You seen this one?” 

“Sure. I’ll watch it again though, babe. That guy looks like you.”

“Hercules? You flatterer,” Steve laughed as Bucky swivelled around to lie on the couch with his head in Steve’s lap. He grabbed the chips and set them on his stomach. 

They watched the film together for a while, until all the chips were gone. Bucky grabbed Steve’s hand as it rooted in the empty bowl and drew it to his mouth, sucking the salt from his fingers. 

“You know when we had the thing?” Bucky said, slightly muffled.

“Yeah.” The thing. That’s what they always call it. Neither of them could say it. The three months last year when they were broken up. When Bucky had wanted Steve to stop stripping, stop turning tricks. Steve had refused and moved out, moved in with Sam. Eventually, Steve had come back, full of sorrow and regret, but he hadn’t stopped stripping and Steve knew the agreement that he’d limit himself to hand jobs and suck jobs was a compromise Bucky found hard to accept. They didn’t talk about it. And things had never been the same. “What about it?”

“It was the worst three months of my life, that’s all. I couldn’t lose you again, baby.”

Steve looked down and touched Bucky’s cheek. “Well you ain’t gonna. You ain’t gonna lose me.”

Bucky was smiling a thin smile as he reached up and put his arms around Steve’s neck. “Yeah,” he said, drawing Steve in for a long delicious kiss. “Yeah.”

But they both knew.

By the time the movie was over, Bucky was asleep in Steve’s lap.

*

Two days later Steve was working the floor of the club. He was wearing tiny cut-off jeans that showed his ass. There was little to them, but they were more than he usually wore. And he was wearing them so he had somewhere to stash his phone. He was waiting for a message. It had been to two days.

The customers seemed rowdy and drunk tonight. A couple of men approached him. “It’s his birthday!” one of them shouted pointing at his more reticent friend and tugging on the waistband of Steve’s cut offs. “You get a free dance on your birthday.”

Steve swallowed and forced himself to smile. The man had dark hair and was a full head shorter than Steve. “I’m sorry, sir. No free dances. And there’s a strict no touching rule, even for the cute ones.” He gently lifted the man’s hand off him in a way he’d practised many times.

“Yeah, sure, sure. Sure there is, unless we come out back, right?”

The dark-haired man’s nervous friend said, “Tony, don’t.”

Steve nodded. “If you want something, sir, you’ll need to ask me clearly.”

Tony leant close. “How much to suck my friend off? You’ve got a nice fucking mouth. I bet it’s talented.”

“Eighty dollars. Out the back. Five minutes,” Steve said, and he forced himself to turn away from them. The nervous friend seemed about to make some serious protests. But that wasn’t why he’d turned away. He’d turned away because just this, just this interaction had been enough to make his dick pulse, hard in his cut offs. He’d been obeying Rumlow’s orders for two days and it was torture. Almost anything got him hard and dripping now, all exacerbated by the fact that if he thought of what he was doing, why he was doing it, how easily Rumlow had taken control of him, how much it turned him on to let Rumlow do whatever he wanted, that made everything so much worse.

He walked backstage to get a jacket. He wasn’t going outside without something. There was a black leather one in the costume closet. He pulled it on, and, as he did so, his phone buzzed in his back pocket. Heart suddenly racing, he snatched it, fingers fumbling on the buttons.

It was a picture of a pair of handcuffs lying on a bed. When Steve looked at it, he stumbled slightly and fell against the wall.

Out back, Tony’s was waiting. He was on his own. “Change your mind?” Steve said, wondering if the fact he had almost ejaculated over himself while putting his jacket on was in anyway detectable. 

“Yeah,” said Tony. “Well, Bruce did. It’s his birthday. Thought he might loosen up, but, hey, you can take the guy out of the laboratory, but you can’t take the… okay that’s not gonna work. Scratch that.”

“Fine, right,” said Steve. “But okay. I need to go.” Steve was mid-shift. He couldn’t hang around out here chatting to this guy who clearly liked the sound of his own voice.

“No, no, sweetheart, wait,” Tony grinned. “He’s changed his mind, but I’m not the kind of boy who breaks a date. Can’t have you missing out on your pay day. Not a big old handsome thing like you.”

Steve looked at Tony’s crotch, then back at his face. “Okay,” he said, shrugging and moving close. “Okay, you. Sure.” He was already getting on his knees on the asphalt. It was cold, but it wasn’t like he didn’t expect it by now.

Tony gasped. “Alright, alright,” he said, a little breathless as Steve unzipped his pants. “Don’t get overwhelmed by the power of this experience or anything.”

Steve laughed a little at this, mouth almost on Tony’s dick. “I’ll try not to.”

“I’m guessing this is a rare treat for you, huh? Sucking a strange man off in back alley.”

Steve took a long lick of Tony’s dick. It smelt so good. “That’s right.” God, he wanted a dick in his mouth. Two fucking days. 

“Good, good. I’d hate to think this didn’t mean anything to you.” And Tony’s voice cracked into a moan then as Steve took his dick right down his throat. Tony took Steve’s head in his hands, just to steady himself, but it was too, too reminiscent of that last night with Rumlow, and Steve’s dick was drooling with need.

It didn’t take long. Steve was well practised at sucking dick and Tony gasped and came in a few moments. Steve sat back on his heels and wiped off his mouth with the back of his hand as Tony handed down the money. “Nice doing business with you,” he said with a grin.

“Thanks,” Steve said, shoving the money into his back pocket. His fingers grazed his phone. He needed to text Rumlow back. Tony looked at Steve for another moment, teeth pinching his bottom lip. “Yeah,” he said quietly. And then he shoved Steve back by one shoulder so he could step past him, turned, and walked away. 

When he got to the end of alley he called over his shoulder. “Take out the trash before you come upstairs would you, honey?”

Steve smiled again.

*

Steve had replied the to Rumlow’s text with the message, “Where and when?” That had been four hours ago. There’d been no reply.

At the end of the shift, Steve went into the dressing room, flung his cut-offs on the floor and took soap and a towel into the shower room. Sam was in there, soaping his hair. The air was thick and steamy and smelt bright, like lemon and mint. Steve took the stall next to Sam’s and tried not to think about his dick, or how on edge he was wanting Rumlow to contact him. Time was running out.

Sam said, “Hey! What’s eating you?”

Steve looked over. Sam was grinning widely. He smiled back. Sam always made him feel better. He felt his shoulders drop as he looked at him. “Nothing, buddy, nothing. I’m alright.”

“How’s it going with that cop?” Sam said.

“What cop?”

Sam flashed his eyebrows. “You know what cop.”

Steve shook his hard, soaping his chest. “He’s just a trick, is all.”

“A trick, is he?” Sam tipped his head back to rinse. “Is he a trick? Or is he fucking you? Is he fucking you, on the side, huh? And Bucky don’t know?”

Steve laughed. “Course not. I just blow him. He pays.”

“”Nah,” said Sam, shutting off the spray and grabbing a towel. “Nah, that ain’t all it is. Never seen you caring about a trick that don’t show up.”

“What?”

“I know you’re wearing those shorties so you can carry your phone around.” Sam strolled out of his stall, towel around his waist. “Saw you get a text. Saw you fucking gasp when you opened it. Remember, dude, I know how you get when you’re cheating on your man-“

“What? We weren’t cheating,” Steve said, sharply. “You and me, it was just a fling.”

“Yeah, sure it was. But, you know, you still look at me.” Sam opened the door to Steve’s shower stall.

“Sam. What are you doing?”

Sam dropped his towel, stepped into Steve’s stall. And then Sam was kissing him.

The water seemed hotter as Sam pushed Steve up against the tiled wall. As Sam’s hand closed around Steve’s dick he wanted to say no, to say stop, but he didn’t. He just gasped and threw his head back so Sam could lick and then bite at his neck. “I always figured it was kinda rude to just take up with me and then drop me again as soon as your boyfriend was back. But I could forgive that. I miss you, buddy,” Sam whispered into Steve’s ear. “I just wanted you to know how much.” His hand went tighter on Steve’s dick. Steve moaned, so close, so fast. 

_So close._

Too late, Steve grabbed for Sam’s wrist, meaning to get him to stop to ask him to stop. But Sam twisted and squeezed… the water, the steam, the scent of the soap. The fact he wanted to come so much… he was lost. But as he came, even as he did, jolting his hips and mouthing at Sam’s jaw and keening and fighting to keep his balance on the tiled floor, even as he did, he heard the voice he’d been dreaming of and desperate for - Rumlow’s voice. Rumlow, right behind them. 

“And what do you think you’re doing, you fucking whore? What is this? A party and you’re the favour? Fucking free for all? Anyone want your ass they just help themselves?”

Steve eyes snapped open, his semen still dripping down between his thighs. He was breathless. Rumlow was wearing his cop’s uniform. Steve’s thighs started to shake.

“Jesus,” Sam muttered, shutting off the water. “What the fuck, dude?”

Steve lifted his chin. Ashamed and angry. ”What? You don’t own me. What are you even doing here?”

“Dude, you want a private dance or something? We’re closed. And you can’t come back here.” Sam said. He took a step towards Rumlow and stopped as Rumlow held up his phone.

“Oh but I do. I do fucking own you, you whorish piece of shit. Unless you want me to tell James all about this thrilling episode.” On the screen of Rumlow’s phone, Sam and Steve. Steve’s head back against the shower wall, eyes closed, Sam naked, face buried in Steve’s neck. Sam clearly, jerking Steve off.

“Oh god,” Steve muttered. He was cold, naked and wet and the chilly shower stall. Sam’s hand was still on his waist. It was the only place he didn’t feel freezing. He met Rumlow’s gaze. “You won’t do that.” But he knew Rumlow would and Rumlow’s nasty smile confirmed it. 

“Come here, whore,” Rumlow said. “Put these fucking things on.” He kicked at Steve’s cut offs on the floor. 

Steve exchanged one look with Sam and did as he was told. Rumlow touched his flank as he passed him. He squatted to retrieve his cut offs and pull them over his damp skin. As he straightened, Rumlow walked up behind him and took his waist. “I brought you a present, sugar. Can you guess what it is?”

Steve closed his eyes. He heard Sam saying, “Okay, bud, I guess I’ll catch you later,” in a clipped, angry voice. But Steve barely noticed. He rested his head back on Rumlow’s shoulder. 

“Well?” Rumlow said as the door snapped shut behind Sam. “Are you gonna guess my present?”

“The handcuffs,” Steve whispered.

“You’ve been such a bad boy, sugar,” Rumlow whispered, pulling Steve’s wrists behind him and snapping on the cuffs. Steve whimpered. “I’m going to have to take you down to the precinct for this.”

Steve shivered as Rumlow took him by the upper arms and shoved him towards the door.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fuck the police.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello viewers, please heed tags on this one. Thank you.

Rumlow pulled up outside the precinct. It was a low building from outside just a single storey, but Steve knew there were a couple of basement levels, too. All the lights were on. It was late. The taller office buildings on either side were dark and silent. Steve watched Rumlow’s big forearms in the short-sleeves of his cop uniform. He patted the steering wheel as if the car had done something satisfactory. Steve felt vaguely jealous of it. 

“Home, sweet home,” Rumlow said. “You been here before?” Steve shook his head, but Rumlow kept talking. “You never picked your little boyfriend up from work, or dropped in with a bagged lunch you made like a good little housewife?” Rumlow snapped off his seatbelt and twisted in his seat to put a hand high on Steve’s thigh. His eyes dropped to Steve’s tiny cut-offs. “Huh?”

“No,” said Steve. “I never have.”

“Really?” Rumlow’s hand moved on Steve’s thigh. The touch was casual - but to Steve it felt like it burned his sensitised skin. “I’m surprised. I thought dear old James wouldn’t be able to keep you away from this place.” He leaned close to whisper in Steve’s ear. “You know it’s full of cops, right?”

Steve laughed a little and squirmed in his seat. “Yeah I know, but that’s the thing. It’s Bucky - James - it’s his job. I can’t go in there and…” He pressed his lips together. “You know.”

“What?” Rumlow was still whispering in Steve’s ear. “Wander around with a dripping fucking dick? Brush it up against the meanest cop you can find so he can feel that you’re hard at the thought of him? Think about the handcuffs, the night sticks, the cells, the things we do to whores like you when there’s no one around?” Steve’s breath caught. Rumlow was so close to him that he must have noticed it. And noticed Steve was hard in his tiny shorts. “You keep on thinking about that,” Rumlow said, stroking higher up Steve’s thigh. “You think about how much power I’m gonna have over you, when we’re in there. How few rights a filthy hooker I’ve found on the streets is gonna have when I decide he needs a sharp lesson in obedience to the the law.”

And, as Rumlow’s hand flickered over Steve’s groin, Steve whispered, “Don’t.” He’d never meant anything less.

Steve said nothing as Rumlow got out of the car, walked around it and opened up Steve’s side. He dragged Steve’s almost-naked body out onto the sidewalk, hands strong around Steve’s bound arms, hot mouth by Steve’s ear. “You’re gonna love this, sugar,” he said and shoved Steve ahead of him up the steps of the precinct building.

Inside, the foyer was garishly strip lit. Steve and Rumlow were met with a room of desks, drifts of paperwork. There was a big, squat, ugly guy on the front desk and two other uniformed cops sitting at the shabby desks. They looked mean. Steve felt his legs go weak. “I know, whore, I know,” Rumlow muttered in his ear. “But try and keep it together, you perverted piece of shit.” When Rumlow reached the front desk he sharply slammed Steve into it so he was winded on its jutting edge, then forced him down before he could recover himself, smacking his face down into the polished wood. It felt like a move Rumlow had done many, many times. Steve felt something break. He tasted blood in his mouth and his ears were ringing as he heard Rumlow shout, “Hey guys, I brought something special for us all to share.”

Although he was sure this was a game - just a game - the rough treatment made jolt of fear shoot through Steve, morphing into desire as Rumlow’s hand slid from his nape, down his spine and right into the back of his cut offs; Rumlow’s finger down the crack of his ass, the tip tapping his hole. Steve squeezed his eyes closed and breathed steady, feeling almost like that single tap might be enough to make him jerk and come over the desk. He felt Rumlow’s weight as he leant over his back, close and intimate and obvious in front of three other cops. “I do listen to you, sugar, I do. You don’t want me to fuck you. No means no. I get that. Daddy listens to what his dumb little whore says. However… thing is, shame about that is, if I had, if you’d let me rough you up a bit, slam my dick into you until you screamed once or twice, you might at least be a little prepared for what these animals are gonna do to you. I might be good to you, but these guys hate fucking cheap, nasty whores like you. And they know,” Rumlow’s lips were nearly touching his ear, “oh they really know, how to make you understand that, slut.”He lifted his head and shouted. “Let’s go, guys. Don’t let this ass get cold.”

It was fast then. The cop from the desk helped Rumlow drag Steve through the foyer. Rumlow shoved Steve’s head down, and Steve didn’t speak. By the time they’d thrown him onto his knees in a small, echoey cell he was horrified by the way he was writhing in his shorts, trying to get some friction against his aching dick. It felt so real.

When he lifted his head, he saw there were five pairs of boots in front of him. He was shaking with fear and arousal, but he tried to swallow it, tried to stay in control, taking a heavy breath and letting it out with the words, “Oh god,” ghosting on his lips. He could tell the first pair of boots were Rumlow’s. And the voice - the voice which said, “Reckon you know what to do with a pair of boots, right, whore?”

Steve nodded as he shuffled forwards on his knees, wrists still cuffed behind him, and dipped his head to kiss the toe of Rumlow’s boot. Blood was rushing in his ears. He heard low, conspiratorial voices, sneering at how eager he was to debase himself, “Jesus look at it,” said one. “Christ, it fucking wants it, filthy fucking slut.” But all Steve really listened to was Rumlow, and Rumlow said, “Show me your fucking tongue when you do that, sugar. Show me how much you need this.”

Steve lifted his head and mumured, “Please sir, I do,” then turned and pressed out his tongue. He ran it over the warm, dusty leather of Rumlow’s boot cap, slow to let Rumlow see. His whole body was hot, blushing pink with want and shame. Being watched doing this - being watched by cops doing this - it was all he could do not to shake and come all over the cold floor. The leather tasted sour. He kissed it again, wetly this time, then let his head turn a little so he was looking up at Rumlow. Rumlow smiled down, his breath heavier, “Pretty little bitch, now get to work. Say hello to all my buddies, who’ve come to this party.”

Steve hasn’t expected that. Hadn’t expected the other men were really here to do more than watch his humilation and sneer at his obedience, despite Rumlow’s threats, but he nodded, kissed Rumlow’s other boot and whispered into the leather, “Yes, sir.”

He shuffled on his knees to kiss the boots of the next cop and licked carefully over the leather. He heard a grunt above him, a voice muttering, “Jesus, fucking whore.” When he licked at the next one he felt something on his back, a wet splatter. He realised the cop staring down at him had spat on him and he moaned open-mouthed against the guy’s boot. Someone said, “Fucking Christ, you hear that? Being spat on turns it on.” And someone else, “Shit, Brock, where did you get this sick fuck?”

Steve moaned again.

The other two spat on him too. One in his hair and one low on his back, right by the waistband of his cut offs. He felt a little of it run down in the crack of his ass and shivered at what that suggested. When he was done, Rumlow turned Steve around with two big hands on his waist. He was so high on arousal and anticipation he almost bucked to be touched. There was a long low table in the room. It had barely registered when he’d been brought in, but now he lifted his head to look at it. Someone was tangling a rough hand in his hair, yanking him up to a kneeling position and giving him no choice about where his gaze fell. He saw there was no doubt at all what this table was for, how he was going to be secured to it, and what was going to happen. This was, Steve swallowed, this was really going to happen.

He cuffs came off, hands all over him as he was dragged into place. Voices laughed and sneered, “Oh look, it loves this.” “This is it’s natural position in life.” “Queer little fucking prick. Is someone going to jerk it off?” Steve shook his head at that, hopeless. He struggled a little in their arms, but knew he couldn’t fight five men. He even wondered if he was struggling at all or just writhing, relishing the touches, the hands on his bare skin, the brush of their uniforms, his near-nakedness and vulnerability. He muttered, “No, no, please. No, not this,” but they all ignored him as Rumlow used cable ties to fasten him down on all fours over the table. 

Then all the hands left him. All five men stood back and left him, helpless in the middle of the room. Steve pulled at the hard plastic holding his wrists. There was no give at all. He was held tight at wrist and shoulder, at ankle and thigh. The hard table top crushed his heavy dick. He looked desperately at Rumlow, who was right in front of him, and Rumlow smiled down - smiled wider and nastier than Steve had ever seen.

“Well, shit,” said a voice. A new voice. The man who had spoken was behind Steve, out of his line of vision. He thought it might be the tall guy with the moustache he had seen, quickly, blurrily when he’d been dragged into the room. “What’s wrong?” the guy continued, “What is fucking wrong with this picture?”

Rumlow snorted. “Wanna fix it?” he said. 

“Sure,” said the same voice. Steve heard a shuffle behind him and then felt hands on the waistband of his cut offs. His stomach iced over. He stared up at Rumlow, eyes wet. There was something metal back there too. Metal and cold and _snick_. A knife. A knife that was cutting through the waistband of his shorts. It was sharp. It slid through the thick fabric as Steve held his breath, and the stitches of the centre seam popped like paper. Thick, hairy hands opened the fabric, spread it aside. Steve’s ass was bare, splayed a little by the position he was bound in, wide and awful and helpless. He looked away from Rumlow, dropped his head and breathed, suddenly aware of all the eyes in the room staring right at his hole, and of all the dicks in the room that weren’t his own.

Someone whistled.

Someone else said, “Coo-ee, whatta fucking peach.”

Steve made a choked-off sobbing noise. He had been naked in rooms full of fully clothed men many, many times, but this was different; he was almost crying with shame to be displayed this way. Displayed for use. His dick was so hard he couldn’t think anymore, but when he heard a scraping noise, he lifted his head a little. Rumlow was putting a little tin cup on the floor by the table and positioning a small low stool in front of it. The stool was almost exactly the same height as the table top. Steve clenched his jaw and watched as Rumlow put his boot on the stool, right in front of Steve’s face. “Now, sugar,” said Rumlow, dipping his head a little, “kiss my boot to thank me for letting you come to this party.”

Steve looked up, eyes wet. He felt panic rising inside of him. This wasn’t a game. This was really going to happen. Rumlow was really going to let all these men have him. This was too much. Too, too much. He jutted his jaw. “No.”

He saw Rumlow clench his teeth. “What?”

“I, I’m not going to thank you for this. I don’t want this. You know I don’t. I told you no. I told you I didn’t want to get fucked.”

“You told me you didn’t want _me_ to fuck you. I ain’t gonna.”

Steve stared at Rumlow. The cable ties on his wrists were tight, biting in. “If you do this, it’s rape. Just so you know. It’s rape.”

Rumlow took his boot from the stool, slowly - stood astride it for a second, then sat down, sharply, legs spread wide. He bent over so his face was close to Steve’s. “Okay, sugar. That’s not how this goes. That ain’t who I am, despite the fact your dick gets hard to think of it. So, now, you’re either gonna do as I told you and say thank you, or you’re not gonna and you’re gonna pretend you don’t want this. And if you wanna pretend you don’t want this, I’ll have you untied from this table and slung onto the street and you can run home to your little boyfriend and snuggle up for a life of cuddles and whatever the fuck else you do with that prick, and I will never see you or speak to you ever again. And you can tell yourself that’s what you fucking wanted. Your choice, whore. But if you do agree - if you do say thank you - that’s your only chance to say no. After that, you’ll take everything I give you. You leave with nothing, or you take it all. What’s it to be, sugar?”

Steve swallowed. The room he was in was lit by nothing but a single bare bulb. The floor was scuffed up linoleum. Wipe clean, he thought with a shudder. There was no furniture apart from the table he was tied to and another smaller one in the corner with a single upright chair tucked under it. The door was behind him - he couldn’t even see it - but he thought about leaving through it and going home to Bucky. It felt good. But then he thought about never seeing Rumlow ever again, never feeling the way Rumlow made him feel ever again. He didn’t want either of the things Rumlow had offered him. He wanted Rumlow to take him to another cheap hotel room, make him strip, throw used bills at him for taking a dick down his throat. Not this, never this. He thought about the four men he could hear standing behind him. Their dicks. He took a breath. 

“Thank you,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Thank you for letting me come to the party, sir.” Rumlow didn’t respond. He stood up and replaced his boot on the stool in front of Steve’s face. Steve took another breath, long and steady, and kissed it, lips puckering, soft to the leather. His eyes met Rumlow’s. As he pulled his lips away he said it again, felt it in his dick. “Thank you, thank you, sir.”

“I knew you’d see it my way,” Rumlow whispered. “It’s obvious you fucking want this. You were made for this. You were made for all these cops to fucking take and make fucking scream for dick. You know how much you need this, you stupid whore.” As Rumlow spoke Steve shivered, feeling the first cop step up, two hands on his ass, opening it up, splaying it obscenely wide. He made a sobbing sound and pressed his face down onto Rumlow’s boot, trying to hide his shame. Above him, Rumlow hummed with satisfaction.

A greased finger slipped into his ass and a voice behind Steve said, “Jesus, Brock. What the fuck is this you’ve brought us?” He slipped in a second finger, less slippery. Steve hissed. “Yeah, I’m gonna get three fingers in this slut easily. I know you said it was a whore, but you never said it was going to be as loose and worn out as this.” Steve gasped in pain as a third finger went in, fast and sharp. It burned. The fingers began to fuck in and out of him. There was another hand on the small of his back. “It likes it though. It loves this. God, I can feel this soaking wet bitch squirming for my cock from the inside. Jesus.”

Another voice said, “Look at his ass shaking. He’s fucking begging for it.”

The fingers stroked him one more time, deep and so nice. Steve whimpered. He moaned into Rumlow’s boot, tongue, breath, hot over the leather. He was hard, painfully, pressed against the table. And the dick behind him was at his hole, just there, a blunt press. A voice behind him said, “Ask for it. Brock, make it ask for a dick in its cunt.” Another press at his hole. A tease but a firm one. 

Low, Rumlow snarled, “You heard, whore.”

And the man said again, “Make it beg.”

Steve lifted his head and looked up at Rumlow, writhing against the dick pressed to his hole, pressing hopelessly back to try and take it. “Please,” he said, he said it to Rumlow. “Please.”

“Tell him you need to get fucked. Tell him nicely,” said Rumlow.

“I need to get fucked,” Steve said. He looked around at the man behind him, as best he could. “Please, sir. Please fuck me.” His voice cracked. “Sir. I need it.”

He got it. The guy behind him fucked into him, in one move, so fast and hard it took Steve’s breath. He was shoved across the table, jolting against the cable ties that held his thighs taught and open. 

Steve grunted as his face was shoved into Rumlow’s boot and Rumlow hand was in his hair, steadying him, holding his face down, firm against the leather, as he was fucked and fucked hard. It hurt. There was no more lube than the smear of stuff the guy’d had on his fingers when he stroked his way into Steve. Steve bit his bottom lip so hard he tasted blood. Rumlow stroked his hair as he whimpered and sobbed through it. “There, there,” Rumlow said, soft, as the guy behind him kept brutally fucking him. “There, there, whore, I’m here. Be a good fucking boy for me. Make me proud. Be nice to my friends.”

Steve shuddered and felt the guy behind him come, jerking and jolting so hard the cable ties were breaking the skin around his thighs. When Rumlow let him lift his head, it was hard to see for tears. 

He heard footsteps after the guy withdrew, fast and careless, finishing with a quick slap to Steve’s ass that caught his sore hole and made him yelp. When the guy had walked around in front of him, Rumlow pulled Steve’s head higher so he was looking up at the man who had just ruined him. 

The man dug in his pocket and produced a dime. He flicked it towards the floor and it clanged as it landed in the tin cup. 

Rumlow jerked at Steve’s hair. “Say thank you,” he said.

Steve looked at the man. He swallowed. “Thank you.”

“Yeah,” said Rumlow, waving the man away. “I set you a price for your ass, whore. Ten cents. Something a bit more appropriate for worthless filth like you. Take ten dicks and you might earn yourself a whole dollar.” He stopped and sniffed. “You better earn for me sugar, or your pimp’s gonna sell you on. Sell you to whoever I want. Maybe sell you to a bunch of thugs who just want a fucking whore to kick the shit out of, cut up and piss over. I know a few biker gangs, who’d pay me five dollars for that. For a piece of shit like you to use as a fucking latrine.”

Steve gasped, dick throbbing against the table top. “No,” he whispered. “No, please. I’ll be good.” He dipped his head, pulling at Rumlow’s grip on his hair to kiss the boot again. Then looked up with wet eyes.“Please, I’ll be so good.”

“Heh,” Rumlow laughed out, sharp. There was another hand already on Steve’s ass, stroking his hole, caressing him, and, at the same time, the soft wet sounds of someone jerking their dick. 

It was big and thick, hot with blood by the time it went into his ass, with a girth that stretched him even wider than before. Steve moaned long and bit down on Rumlow’s leather boot. After a few hard thrusts, the guy pulled his dick out again and splattered his come over Steve’s back. 

Rumlow chuckled softly, reached over and dabbled his fingers in it. Then, as the man walked around to drop a dime in Steve’s tip jar, Rumlow jammed three come-covered fingers into Steve’s mouth. Steve moaned again, louder, and sucked hard. Rumlow hooked his fingers and jerked Steve’s face up so he was looking at another man who had just fucked him, the man whose come was in his mouth, the man whose come he was sucking eagerly and obediently from Rumlow’s fingers.

“Thank him, whore,” Rumlow said.

“Thank you, sir,” Steve said around the fingers in his mouth. There was brackish drool running down his chin. He was burning with shame, unable to stop himself rutting himself against the hard table.

Rumlow took his hand out, scooped up more come and, this time, smeared it over the toe of his boot. “This’ll keep you busy. A fucking come hungry slut like you. Clean that up.”

Steve groaned to do it, groaned as he started to lick the come off Rumlow’s boot. Behind him someone else slapped his ass a few times, hard. He was buzzing so much it just felt good. He arched back for it, and then felt a disgusting squelch as the guy fucked into him, rough and careless. He was still licking Rumlow’s boot when the guy tossed a dime into the cup. He didn’t need to be told now. He lifted his head and said, “Thank you, sir,” through bruised lips.

The last guy to fuck him had the biggest dick yet and Steve winced as it slid, slippery into the come that had been left inside him. And after he’d thanked that the last cop for his dime, he let his head sink down onto Rumlow’s boot again. He squirmed against the table, feeling come dripping out of his ass, feeling so used.

“Look at me, whore.” Steve looked up. Rumlow was jerking his own hard cock. Without thinking, Steve licked his come-stained lips. “Jesus,” Rumlow muttered, “fucking slut. Shame I don’t get to fuck you. Guess I’m just gonna have to come on your face.”

Steve stared up at Rumlow. His ass felt sore and empty. “You can,” Steve said softly. “You can fuck me. If you want to, I want you to.”

“Really, whore? Need another dime, do you?”

Steve rolled his hips, “Yes, sir. Yes please. I need another dime. Please fuck me. Please.”

Rumlow shook his head. “Think I’m gonna put my dick in your worthless slut ass after you’ve just let every man in this room take you? You must be - uh - must be joking, you dumb fucking whore. Dumb,” he was gasping. “Dumb fucking whore.” And with that, Rumlow came, splattering long white ribbons of come over Steve’s panting face. He smiled and leant down to wipe a little of it into Steve’s mouth. Steve lapped greedily where his tongue could reach it. 

But Rumlow left most of the come on Steve’s face, dripping down it onto the stool as Rumlow took his boot away and walked around behind him. 

“You know who this is?” he heard Rumlow say to the other cops. “You know who you just stuck your dick inside. Who was just begging you for your fucking cocks?”

“Who?” said another voice.

“Only that rat Barnes’s fucking boyfriend.”

“What?” said Steve and he tried to look around, but couldn’t turn far enough. “Rumlow, what?”

“It’s true.” Someone else was saying. “I recognise him from the photo on Barnes’s desk.”

Another voice. “Barnes really does have a fucking hooker for a boyfriend? Jesus fucking Christmas.”

Steve tried to say something else, but he could hear from the way they were moving they were all leaving the room. 

“Hey,” said Rumlow, “we should put a sign on the door. Fuck Barnes’s boyfriend, right this way.”

And then the lights snapped off and the door closed and Steve was left in the dark with come dripping out of his ass and off his face.

*

When the light snapped back on, sudden and bright, Steve wasn’t sure where he was for a few moments. _Had he been asleep?_ He felt big, capable hands cutting away the cable ties, something wiping his face and a muttering of, “Jesus, fucking animals.” He was shoved onto a chair, a table in front of him and his wrists were handcuffed behind the chair back, all before his eyes had adjusted to the light. 

When he could see again, he saw a man leaning against the wall in front of him. Another cop. One he’d never seen before. Cap tilted low over his eyes. A big man, with an obviously hard, hot body in his blues.

“Who,” Steve managed, his voice rough and distant. “Who are you?”

The big man pushed off the wall. He had a matchstick in his mouth and, as he moved, he switched it to the other side and spoke through it, “My name’s Rollins. Officer Rollins.”

“Where’s Officer Rumlow?” Steve swallowed. His mouth was so dry. 

Rollins shrugged as he strolled over to Steve. “Upstairs, I suppose. He’s a busy man. You can’t expect his attention all the time.” He flashed his eyebrows. “I know you’re pretty, but pretty things like you aren’t as rare as all that. So don’t get vain.” Rollins casually slapped Steve’s face. “And a pretty thing like you can be made a lot less pretty, pretty damn easy.” 

“Did he send you? Officer Rumlow?”

“He talks about you all the time. I’ve found such an interesting slut, Jack, he says. Jack’s my name, but if I ever hear it on your tongue, whore, I’ll put my smoke out on it.” As he spoke Rollins slipped onto Steve’s lap, straddling him easily with two feet flat on the floor. He touched Steve’s lips with one big finger. “So, this is the mouth you think is so special you charge men to put their dick in it?”

Steve gasped. He was naked. His ruined cut offs had fallen away when Rollins had moved him and he was getting hard against Rollins’s dick. “Yeah,” Steve said, “I guess, yeah. I’m good.”

Rollins smiled like he found this statement endearing. “I don’t doubt that you are, cocksucker. Practice makes perfect, right? Fifty dollars though. Is it really worth that? This fucking hole?”

“Eighty.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. You charge eighty, your fucking owner keeps thirty off the top. How adorable.” Rollins teased his finger around and around the tideline of Steve’s lips. Steve was hard now, his erection tight against Rollins crotch. And he wanted nothing, nothing so much as for Rollins to press that finger into his mouth. “I know all about you, cocky fucking whore,” Rollins said. “Sadly for you, I have no intention of paying filth like you to wrap his disgusting lips around my dick.” He shrugged, a half smile on his generous lips. “If anything you should pay for the privilege of being allowed to touch a man like me.” And he slipped a finger into Steve’s mouth, sliding it in and out as Steve gasped around it. Something about that statement had made Steve’s breath hitch, made blood rush to his dick and pool there making it heavier. He would, he realised, he would pay to be allowed to touch this man’s dick, to lick and kiss it. To, oh god, to make him come. He’d pay anything he was asked to be allowed to make this man come.

Rollins chuckled like he was reading Steve’s mind. “Luckily for you trade, I ain’t really interested in your slutty fucking mouth either way.” And, as if to illustrate his point, he whisked his finger away. “See, I’m something of a specialist. I’m the guy who…” he paused. “How should I put this, I want to be quite sure I’m understood. I ain’t part of your pathetic pansified dreams of some big-dicked daddy cop who’s gonna spank you for being a bad boy then kiss it better.”

“What,” Steve stared at him. “Rumlow doesn’t…”

Rollins cut him off with a big hand jamming over his mouth. “Don’t talk back to me, you fucking piece of filth.” His face was so close to Steve’s. Hot breath on his cheek. He smelled like smoke and sandalwood. Smelled like rich older men in the club sometimes did. “What I am, is the guy you call in when you need to to really punish a sick queer like you. Understand?”

Steve nodded, unsure what else to do.

“Yeah,” Rollins’s grin got wider. “And now I’ve said that, you’re wondering what it’s gonna be, aren’t you? After what’s happened in here so far, what could I possibly be going to do to you? Heavy pain, perhaps,” Rollins tongue flicked over his top lip. “Maybe I’m gonna get out a razor and mess up that pretty face? But I think you’d respond best to humiliation. Maybe I should take a shit on that table and make you eat it, filth.”

Steve’s lips shook behind that hand jammed over his mouth. He pulled at the cuffs.

“Oh don’t even,” Rollins said, idly. “You’re not getting a say in any of this, hole. Trust me, I know just what I’m doing. Nice to give the old skills an airing. Now,” he leaned back, “you’re a big guy, you work on that muscle?”

Rollins took his hand away from Steve’s mouth. “Please, I,” Steve tried, cutting off suddenly as Rollins smacked him around that face again, much harder this time, so hard that his head spun around and his ears rang.

Rollins grabbed Steve’s chin and righted his face. “Just answer the question, please.”

Steve nodded. “Three or four times a week. Just lucky, I guess.”

“Lucky, are you? We’ll see, queer. Now what’s gonna happen next is I’m gonna uncuff you so you can bend over this table for me.” He slapped the table behind him. “And you ain’t gonna make any sudden stupid moves. You know why? Because you’re in a fucking cell in the basement in a precinct full of cops who hate your fucking boyfriend’s traitorous guts. Lucky for you they do what Rumlow says, but they also do what I say. So you’re gonna behave for me, right?” Steve nodded, confused. Rollins leaned back a fraction more and looked at him. “And if that seems too complicated for your pretty little slut brain, I’m a cop, remember. I know you like to do what a cop tells you. It turns you on to be obedient for cops, you sick queer fuck. So if it’s easier, do it that way. Just do what Officer Rollins fucking tells you.”

Steve nodded again and let Rollins get up and reposition him. Bending him over the small table and cuffing his wrists to the legs on the far side.

“Jesus.” Rollins was looking at Steve’s asshole. “That sore?”

“Yeah,” Steve gasped, feeling sick inside, so exposed. “Kinda.”

“You liked it though, right.” One of Rollins fingers touched his ass and Steve winced. “Don’t lie to me, faggot.”

Steve lifted his head and tried to look at Rollins, who was stroking his hole with one finger. “What did you call me?”

Rollins laughed. “I called you a fucking faggot, faggot.” Steve looked at him dumbly. “Oh, I’m sorry, is it not true? Because I heard you were a fucking pansy go-go boy that sucked dick for money. That’s a fucking faggot in anyone’s playbook, cunt.”

Steve clenched his jaw and watched as Rollins slipped a finger into him, pouring some slippery liquid onto it as he went. “You gonna fuck me?” Steve said, jerkily, “Because all those cops out there fucked me so hard I probably won’t even feel it.” 

Rollins pulled his finger free and carefully pushed up his sleeve past his elbow. He held his right forearm with his left hand and flexed his fingers out, and then, he made a fist. “Nah. Like I said, fag hole, I am something of a specialist.”

As he slid his slick finger back into Steve’s ass, Steve pictured Rollins’s big capable hands. He realised what was happening and felt sick with sudden, desperate panic, “No, no, no. Not that,” he shouted out, tears springing to his eyes. He rattled the table and jolted the cuffs.

Rollins sighed and put his free hand on Steve’s flank. “No one can fucking hear you, faggot. Get it together. Now, understand this, my fist is going inside you.” He hissed this out, low and threatening. “You’d be well advised to let me concentrate on what I’m doing if you don’t want to be ripped to fucking shreds.”

Steve stilled, whimpering. Rollins already had three fingers in him. He was stroking at Steve’s prostate now and Steve couldn’t help himself, he was rubbing his hard dick against the smooth table edge, whimpering and moaning.

“Yeah,” said Rollins, “Thought that would change your mind.” He slipped in a fourth finger, slow, but it burned. The pleasure was overwhelming, but it hurt too, _god, it hurt_. Steve held on to the legs of the table that his wrists were cuffed to, too tight, fingernails digging deep into the flesh of his palms. This was really going to happen. There was nothing, _nothing_ , he could do.

Rollins slid his four bunched fingers in and out, over and over, dragging slow over Steve’s pleasure spots, scissoring him wider and wider until he was bucking back, trying to take more. More and more. Rollins sighed, there was change of sensation, and Steve realised Rollins’s thumb was inside him. He panted through it. “That’s it,” Rollins breathed. “Good fag, good little queer. I know you want this. Want my whole fist inside you don’t you, you greedy slut. Say it. Fucking ask me for it.”

“Yes,” Steve moaned, “yes,” pressing his forehead to the table and arching back for it, lifting his ass up and thrusting. “I want it.”

“That’s it whore,” Rollins said softly. “You do it. Beg. Be me. Tell me what you are.”

“What?” Steve’s head swam. “Please. I want this please.”

“And what are you? What does that make you, slut? What does it make you, that you want my fist up your fucking ass?”

Steve took a breath. “I’m a slut, sir. I’m a slut and I’m sick.” Another breath, deeper. “And I’m a fag, I’m a fucking faggot sir. Make me take it. Please.”

He heard the smile in Rollins’s voice. “Good little fag. That’s it. Now fuck yourself onto my fist, you slut.”

And Steve did. Pressed back into Rollins, felt it in his dick as the knuckles went in and the stretch made yell and beg, “No, no, please,” even as he was still fucking himself on it. As Rollins twisted his fist inside him, Steve yelled and bucked and came so hard and suddenly he nearly blacked out.

He didn’t feel Rollins withdraw. Next thing he knew Rollins was walking around in front of him. Steve squirmed, feeling the filthy stickiness between him and the table.

“So you’re wondering, I suppose,” said Rollins, looking down at Steve, wiping a sticky hand in Steve’s hair. “Why I said that was a punishment? When you clearly loved it so fucking much.” He ducked down, his face close, that heady, good scent again. “Sure, it’s a treat, sluthole. But it will ruin you.” He took his hand from Steve’s hair and held his wrists, flexing his long, nice fingers in front of Steve’s face. Steve wanted that hand more than he had wanted any dick he’d ever seen. He pushed his head forward and kissed one of Rollins’s knuckles. Rollins laughed and moved it closer, let Steve lovingly kiss over the back while he spoke. “You’re not the first fag to fall in love with my fucking fist, hole. Do you think,” he said, “for one second, your fucking pet fag cop cunt Barnes’s dick is even gonna register after I’ve done this to you, baby doll?” He pressed close to whisper in Steve’s ear, “My fist is all you’re ever gonna think about when you come.”

And then, he snatched his hand away, turned and left the room; left Steve there, aching and cold. Back in the dark.

*

When the lights snapped back on, the voice he heard was Rumlow’s. He felt Rumlow’s hand on his ass. He felt so stretched and open there. Ruined, even. “Hey princess. Having fun at the party?”

“What?” Steve rasped out.

Rumlow didn’t reply. He unfastened Steve’s cuffs and helped him up from the table, then walked him out of the room, along the corridor and through another door. Steve’s legs shook. He had to lean on Rumlow to move at all. 

The room Rumlow had brought him into was dimly lit and windowless like the one he’d been in before. It contained nothing but a low narrow bed. Rumlow lowered Steve onto it and, for a moment, Steve thought he was going to be able to sleep. He thought that until until Rumlow brought out another pair of handcuffs and fastened his wrists to the metal bar at the headboard. Steve was naked, on his belly, and Rumlow climbed up onto the bed, straddling Steve’s legs, looking again right at his stretched, ruined ass. He made a low, tutting noise then Steve felt Rumlow move and run his hot tongue right over his twitching, aching hole. That sensation there, on that sore abused spot, made Steve yell out and buck up. Rumlow licked him again, slower and Steve wailed. 

Rumlow lifted his head. “You like that, sugar?”

Steve whimpered something like a yes and tried to press his ass up into Rumlow’s mouth. 

Rumlow licked him again. It felt so good. “You want me to fuck this?”

“Yes,” Steve sobbed, “Yes, yes.”

“Shame you told me no then, isn’t it? But don’t be sad, sugar,” Rumlow said, sitting up and slapping Steve’s ass. “I got something else for you.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Something else I promised you.”

Steve heard an odd sound then, It took him a while to place it. Then he realised Rumlow was sliding his belt out of his pants. “No,” Steve said weakly. “God, no, please.”

“Remember what I said, you come without permission, you get my belt. I reckon I owe you two hard beltings, slut. One for what happened when good Officer Rollins punched you up the ass and one for what I caught you doing back at your club with your coloured friend.”

Steve shook his head and looked over his shoulder. “Really, sir? Really? Please. You’re gonna still belt me, even after everything else?”

Rumlow made a sharp noise of amusement. “Yeah I am, sugar, because unlike you, I am a man of my fucking word.” 

Steve felt Rumlow climbing off him, trailing the belt over his shaking ass. “Please,” he whispered. “Please, no. Don’t.”

Rumlow slapped the belt against the floor. “Stop acting like you don’t want this. There’s only you and me, here, sugar. And don’t think I don’t know how much you want this, whore. Don’t think I don’t know an ass that’s begging for a belt.”

“Please. I don’t. I don’t.”

“Then why did you do exactly what I told you would earn you this?” Rumlow said, and with that he snapped the doubled-over belt through the air, slapping it down over Steve’s ruined ass with a snap. It burned. Steve yelled.

“But, sir,” Steve managed, breathless, panting at the pain. “You never said, you never said I couldn’t.”

“Don’t fucking pretend,” Rumlow snarled. “You did it on purpose. You need punishment. You want it.” And the belt lashed him again. The line of it crossed the first stroke and the pain was like a bright, white light. 

“No. Please,” Steve sobbed again, “please stop.”

He heard Rumlow walk towards the bed again. He felt Rumlow’s hand, tracing the red stripes across his ass. “Nice,” Rumlow said gently. He dropped the belt down in front of Steve’s face. “Kiss it,” he said.

“What?”

“Kiss the belt, now you’ve had a taste. Thank me for this.”

“What?” Steve said again. “No. I won’t do that.”

“You will. Do it or I will belt you until you beg to do it.”

Steve whimpered. He stretched forward and pressed his lips to the belt. “Thank you,” he said carefully. “Thank you, sir.” He swallowed. “How much must I take?”

“You’ll take it until you cry from pain, slut. Kiss it again.”

Steve did as he was told.

Rumlow took another step back and hit Steve with the belt again. The angle was different and the strokes hit the back of his thighs. It hurt more there. Burned - blazed - against the hard muscle. It hurt. Rumlow beat him over and over. Beat him until he was sobbing and his skin was fire from his knees to the top of his ass. 

When Steve finally, heard the belt drop onto the floor and looked over at Rumlow. Rumlow’s eyes were wide and dark with lust. His breath was shallow. This was turning him on. Steve’s suffering was turning him on. He looked at Steve and said, “You should have let me fuck you back in the hotel, whore. Avoided all of this.” Steve saw Rumlow throat twitch. “Now ask me to whip you harder.”

“No!” Steve said shocked. “No I can’t. I can’t take more. Not harder. I can’t ask for more pain.”

“You,” Rumlow said in a low sinister tone, “will do exactly as you are told or I will leave you here all night and let every member of this precinct fuck you in the morning.”

“No!” Steve didn’t know if Rumlow would do that. It seemed impossible. But a few hours ago, he would never have imagined Rumlow capable of this. “No, please.”

“Then do it. Ask to be whipped harder.”

Steve shivered. “Please whip me harder, sir.” After he’d said it, he buried his face in his left arm and sobbed. 

Rumlow whipped him harder with the belt. Over and over on his already sore flesh. Steve screamed and screamed, pulled at the handcuffs to try and get away from the punishment. But there was nothing he could do except take it. Nothing except go limp under the belt and let the pain wash over him in great vicious waves.

“I’m hard, whore,” Rumlow said. “You’re turning me on, writhing and begging for pain like this. Tell me you love this as much as I do.”

“”Huh?” Steve muttered, lost.

“Say you love it. Say you love this.” Rumlow dropped the belt onto the floor and Steve heard him walking over to the bed.

“I love this,” Steve whimpered through streaming tears. “I love it, sir. I do.”

“Good, good.” Rumlow climbed onto the bed and lay his body on top of Steve’s, rubbing the fabric of his uniform over Steve’s sore, bare skin. “Now, say you love me.”

“Sir?”

“Fucking say it, whore. Tell me you love me.”

Steve took a breath, head swimming, and said, “I do. I love you, sir.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have nothing helpful to say about how long this update took. I hope it was worth the wait, fans of filth.

Steve stood in the changing rooms at the club for a while wondering what he was going to say when his shift started. He’d have to wear a shirt and long pants, or, at least, something down to his knees. But how to explain such a choice. He wore the tiniest outfits. He was known for it. But his body, the back part of his body, was covered in whip marks from Rumlow’s belt. 

Rumlow had dropped him back at the club. They’d driven in silence, Steve exhausted, Rumlow smiling silently to himself, as if amused at his own thoughts and with no mind to share. It had been too early, but Steve hadn’t be able to face going home. He’d slipped into the club past the cleaning staff and showered until he couldn’t feel his skin.

Eventually he chose an outfit and then he stood, still, looking at himself in a tight jeans and a white singlet, wondering if it looked sexy or just obvious that he needed so many clothes to cover the marks all over his back and legs. He couldn’t strip. He needed the friction of his bare skin for pole. He stared at himself. _Would anyone buy a lap dance from this?_

He had a lump in is throat when he heard the door click open. It was Natasha. She was usually first in, ready to run security. She was all in black and she pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear a she strolled in. “Hey,” she said.

“Hey, Nat,” said Steve. He was looking at her in the mirror. He didn’t turn around.

“So, er,” Natasha shifted. “Mr Pierce is here.”

“What?”

“Yeah. He owns the club. Of course, he owns a lot of places but one of them is this place.”

“I know who he is. I know he owns the club.”

“He wants to see you,” said Natasha. “He’s waiting for you in my office.”

*

Steve has seen Alexander Pierce once or twice before. Walking the floor of the club. Always discreetly. But there was something noticeable about the way he held himself. He and Sam had nudged each other to see him cruise by.

Natasha’s office, such that it was, was cramped and messy: a desk, a chair, a bank of security monitors. Alexander Pierce was perched up on the desk. He looked comfortable there, even though he couldn’t possibly be. Steve shifted in his tight jeans. Pierce’s suit looked like it had cost $6,000. And just before Pierce spoke, Steve realised why he felt so deeply uneasy. _Hadn’t Rumlow said he knew Pierce. Weeks ago. Said they were old friends._

With a nice, easy smile, Pierce held out a hand. When Steve took it, and shook it, Pierce said, “Alexander Pierce.”

“Yeah,” said Steve. “Yeah, I know. Steve, sir. Rogers.”

“And I am also aware of you, Mr Rogers.” Pierce’s smile spread over his face in a pleasant, twinkly sort of way. “So, how do you know my friend Officer Rumlow?”

Steve caught a sharp breath. “I…” - he paused -, “he’s a client. He bought a dance a couple of weeks ago.” 

Pierce nodded. “And does he buy your other services,” Pierce said idly, as if he had no reason to pretend he didn’t know all his dancers got down on their knees in the alley way behind the club. 

“Yes sir.” Steve swallowed.

“He sweet on you?”

Steve shrugged. “I don’t know, sir.”

“He buying you presents? Wanting to be special.”

_Trying to be special._ “Maybe. Yeah, kind of.”

“I know he might not seem like it, but he’s an influential man, Steve,” said Pierce. “Keep him happy.”

Steve nodded. “I’ll try.”

Pierce’s eyes slid down Steve’s body. “I understand you need to keep your shirt on for a few days.” Steve’s stomach iced. _He knew. God, he knew._ “I’ve told Natasha you’re to be trained to work the bar. Just until you’re stage ready again. Obviously, you’ll only earn basic and tips, no dance bonuses, and nothing like you’d get on the floor or on your knees. So, I suggest you try not to, uh, upset Officer Rumlow in the meantime.” And he smirked.

Steve nodded again

“Very good. Now, jerk me off and we’re done here.”

“What?” Steve glanced quickly around the shabby, crowded room. “Sorry, sir, what?”

“Jerk me off. Might as well. As i’m here. If I go to one of my restaurants I have a meal, don’t I? Make it quick. I have an appointment.”

“I… Right,” said Steve. “Do you want me to dance?”

Pierce appeared to consider it. “I don’t think so, no. I’m not a tourist.”

“Uh, okay.” Steve took a step forward and took hold of Pierce’s suit pants. He unzipped him. Pierce looked away, glanced casually over Steve’s shoulder. Steve curled his fist around Pierce’s soft dick, pumping it to get it hard. There was something dehumanising about this, more nasty than being on his knees, maybe more degrading than anything Rumlow had done to him. At least Rumlow looked at him. 

Pierce grew hard slowly. They weren’t touching at all apart from Steve’s hand around Pierce’s dick. Pierce sighed as if bored. 

“Sir,” said Steve. “Can I do anything else, sir?”

“No, no,” said Pierce evenly. “Just continue.”

So Steve did. He jerked off Alexander Pierce in Natasha’s dirty office. Jerked him until his wrist was aching and cramping and Pierce shot weakly over Steve’s fist with a low grunt. 

*

Steve hated how much he missed Rumlow over the next four long nights of bar tending, or beers slopping over his wrists, or mixing cheap cocktails and of bad tips from men who’d rather save their tip money for tucking inside some other guy’s trunks. He was missing that money. And, as of this evening, so was Bucky. 

He’d been about to leave. He hadn’t known Bucky was even home until he found him in the kitchen, looking at the stack of notes on the kitchen shelf. Steve’s contribution to their joint budget and considerably depleted. “You earning less lately, Steve?” Bucky said.

“Yeah,” Steve said. “I’m working on the bar. No dancing, no stripping. And no back alley stuff, but it makes less money. Tricks don’t tip the bar boys much.”

Bucky wiped his hand over his tired face. It was ten o clock. He’d only just got in from a shift that had started at seven in the morning. “Steve, this is…” he thumbed the pile of notes. “We got bills to pay, baby.”

Steve swallowed. “I thought you didn’t like me dancing.”

“Sure, but I didn’t mean just stop without telling me. And you’re still working in a strip club, Steve. Even if it’s behind the bar. You’re still wearing.” He waved a hand at Steve’s clothes. He was just heading out for the late shift in leather pants and a leather vest. “If you’re gonna whore yourself out you might as well have the fucking notes to show for it, babe.”

“What did you say?” Steve snapped. He was tired too and so tired of this. He’d stormed into work and was still angry enough that he cut his finger slicing up a lemon. It was only a scratch, but the lemon juice got into it and it stung so he pressed his finger to his mouth turning around and there, leaning up against the bar, grinning like a dog, was Rumlow.

“Hello Beautiful.”

Steve froze. Lemon and blood in his mouth.

Rumlow stared at him, leant forward slow, over the bar, letting his eyes wander down Steve’s leather-clad body then back to his face. “I want a dance,” he said.

Steve moved his hand from his face. Reaching down he grabbed he edge of the little workshelf under the bar, tight. His other hand was still holding the knife. He didn’t know why. “I’m on the bar.”

“Yeah. I don’t give a fuck about that, sugar. Some other whore can do that. I want to see you dance for me. Ain’t that nice. You’re my favourite. Do you feel special?”

“Not particularly.” Steve was still holding the shelf. His legs were shaking.

“You really gonna say no to me? I heard you were gonna keep me sweet, sugar.”

“You talked to Mr Pearce about me.” 

Rumlow cocked his head as he slid his thumbs into the loops of his black jeans. “I talk to a lot of people about you, whore. I know you like that. You’re very a interesting topic of conversation.”

“Look, Officer Rumlow,” Steve made himself take his hands off the workshelf and stand straight. “Can I get you a drink. I’m working bar tonight.” He clenched his jaw. “Because I can’t work the floor. You know why.”

Rumlow’s dog-smile returned. “Yeah,” he said, and he dipped his head in a way that was almost coy. “That’s what I want to see, ain’t it.”

“You’ve seen it.”

“Hey, Steve, Officer Rumlow.” It was Natasha, there suddenly at the other end of the bar, out of nowhere.

“Hey toots,” said Rumlow, looking up with twinkling eyes.

“There a problem here?” Natasha said. Steve was about to answer when he realised she was talking to Rumlow.

Rumlow shrugged at her. “Just buying a dance of my favourite piece of talent here.” He jerked his head at Steve. Steve took a breath and flashed Natasha a look.

“I see,” said Natasha. “Run along then, Steve. I’ll cover the bar.”

Steve didn’t argue

*

Steve followed Rumlow into one of the private rooms. When he flipped open the cover in the wall to get to the music system, Rumlow said, “Don’t bother with all your showgirl shit, babe. I just want to see how fucked up you are.”

“What?” said Steve, turning around.

“I told you, sugar, want to see the marks. Show me. Get your clothes off.”

Steve swallowed. “Yes, sir,”he said, sickening at how his dick swelled to say it. He turned his back to Rumlow and hauled off his leather vest. When his back was bare, Rumlow let out a long low, “Fu-uck.” Steve couldn’t hold back a moan at the sound of Rumlow’s arousal.

Steve was hard as he dropped his jeans. 

“Jesus Christ,” Rumlow growled out loud at the sight of Steve’s ruined ass and thighs. Steve had looked at them in the shower the night before, wondering how long it would be before he could let Bucky see him naked. He’d been sleeping in sweatpants and a t shirt, Bucky hadn’t mentioned it. He felt the air move and then Rumlow was behind him. Fingers tracing the welts. Steve gasped.

“Jesus. Jesus God,” Rumlow was muttering to himself, “Fuck me, fuck. Get on your hands and knees, God. You’re a beautiful fucking whore, sugar, you really are.”

Steve did as he was told. After that one instruction, Rumlow said nothing else to Steve, just muttered to himself like he did when he was watching porn, “Yeah, bitch, yeah. I fucked you up good, didn’t I.” Steve could hear the soft, slick sound of Rumlow working his own dick. It made Steve feel disgusting to be used like this, to have the evidence of the pain Rumlow had put him through, used as something for Rumlow to lazily jerk to while Steve was on all fours in front of him, like a thing. A thing whose only purpose was to get Rumlow off.

That thought turned Steve on. His dick was still hard between his legs. It twitched.

“Yeah, that’s right,” said Rumlow. “I know you want this, whore.”

“Please,” said Steve, but Rumlow ignored him and Steve had no idea what he was begging for. He stayed where he was for a few moments, silent, dick pulsing at being degraded like this, at being used.

“Say you want me to come on you,” Rumlow said suddenly. “Come on, whore, beg for Daddy’s come.”

“I can’t, sir,” Steve said, his voice weak and thick.

“Sure you can. Come on, slut, get creative. Don’t make me have words with your boss.”

Steve swallowed. He didn’t know what Rumlow could do, or who he even meant. But his dick jolted at the thought of doing what Rumlow wanted. Of making Rumlow come over his marked up back. He wanted this. He couldn’t help it. “Please,” he said softly, hating himself, “Please, daddy. Please come on me. I love it.”

“That’s nice, whore. Keep going.” Rumlow’s voice was ragged, deepening with arousal.

“Daddy please. Come on me. Mark me. Show me I belong to you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Rumlow.

“Please, sir. Daddy. Come all over me. I, I love you.” At that, Rumlow moaned and hot, soft come fell across Steve’s back. And as he felt it, he jerked and moaned and came himself, his untouched cock jolting between his thighs, his own come splattering down on the carpet.

He was still panting when, above him Rumlow zipped up and said, “Nice touch, whore. You’re gonna get rich off tricks like that.”

Steve rolled over onto his back. “Not really. I can’t dance for anyone else marked like this. You’ve lost me money.”

“Ain’t my fault people have no taste,” Rumlow said. Then as an afterthought he said, “How much?”

“What?”

“How much you lost?”

Steve shrugged. He wasn’t sure. “About 300 dollars, I guess.”

“I see.” Rumlow fished his ancient wallet from his back pocket. Steve’s eyes went wide as he opened it and began counting out notes. “There we are,” he said, fisting a bundle of cash. “Three hundred dollars.”

“What for?” said Steve.

“Oh, don’t you want it, whore? It’s for you.”

Steve said, “Rumlow,” and then stopped and reached for the cash. But before he could take it, Rumlow snatched his hand back. 

“One second,” he said. “Greedy bitch. Ask me for it.”

Steve looked at Rumlow. He narrowed his eyes, but eventually he said, “Please.”

Rumlow grinned, “Please what?”

“Please can i have the money,” Steve said. 

Rumlow snorted, “Okay, whore,” threw the cash into the puddle of Steve’s semen on the floor, and walked out.

*

 

The following evening Steve wasn’t working. He was already in bed when Bucky got home after nine. When he came into the bedroom, he didn’t say anything about the money on the shelf, if he’d even seen it. Instead he threw a print out of a grainy photograph onto the bed.

Steve froze. It was a photograph of Rumlow, of Rumlow leaving he club; last night judging from the clothes. Leaving last night after he’d just come over Steve’s back. “What’s this?” he said, looking up at Bucky.

Bucky’s face was unreadable. He just looked exhausted. “We put surveillance on this cop at the precinct. Officer Rumlow. He’s dirty as fuck. Cant pin a thing to him, though. Reckon he’s got a lotta goons, always getting tipped off about what we’re trying to pin on him. I had him followed last night. This was in the report on my desk.”

Steve looked at the picture again. “Right.”

“That’s your club, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Steve babbled. “We get a lot of guys in. I don’t know if they’re cops do I?”

“Steve,” Bucky said slowly. “I’m part of a team trying to nail this fucker and I think he knows it. If he’s tried to get to you…”

“He ain’t,” said Steve, quickly.

“You’ve not spoken to him?” 

Steve shook his head. 

“Steve,” Bucky went on. “It’s not out of the question. I’m out at work. There’s a goddamn picture of us on my desk. He coulda seen you and put two and two together in the club. I don’t advertise what you do, an’ it ain’t illegal, but, this guy is smart. I wouldn’t put it past him to try and make out he had some kind of hold over me because of what you do. And use that to make out I stitched him up.”

“What.” Steve’s cold blood ran colder. 

“I can’t give Rumlow any sway. Has he approached you, at all, even subtly? He’s a clever man.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Steve snapped. “You think I can’t handle myself. You know what I do. what i deal with every fucking day?”

“Of course I know,” Bucky said, sitting down on the bed. “I’m a cop, babe.” He reached out to touch Steve’s thigh.

Steve pulled away and Bucky jerked his hand back. “Yeah,” Steve sneered, “a hot cop. And you always play that card to keep me sweet. Well you aren’t the only cop in town.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Steve got out of bed. “Nothing.”

“Steve?” said Bucky, sounding confused. 

Steve had tears in his eyes as he marched out of the room.

 

*

A week passed. And another. That last argument had broken Steve and Bucky’s relationship to the point where they’d stopped speaking, to a point where, if Rumlow asked him to come away with him, Steve would have. He didn’t even care that Bucky was tailing Rumlow now. He desperately wanted to find out from Rumlow if everything that had happened between them was about Bucky, about setting up some situation where he could make out Bucky’s case against him was driven by revenge. But Rumlow didn’t show at the club. Steve wondered if someone had tipped him off about the surveillance. Maybe he was keeping himself squeaky clean, hard to imagine as that was.

Steve was walking home. It was 4am. The street were silent, damp and glistening from some earlier rain. It made everything seem quieter somehow. He turned down an alley way, and when he was halfway down it, he couldn’t even hear any traffic noise. He felt like he was at the edge of he earth. 

He let himself cry. 

What he had with Bucky was impossible. _He couldn’t leave, they had so much together, but he couldn’t stay, they had too little._

A man was walking towards him down the alley. A big man, but that was no concern of Steve’s - Steve was also a big man. A moment later, he heard running steps and another man pounded up and flanked the first. He was also big, and the two of them blocked the alley way side by side. He heard a sound behind him and looked to see another two men, blocking his escape. He kept walking forward. When he got to the two men who were blocking his way, they stopped walking. “Excuse me,” he said, not looking up at them. 

“Heh. Ask nicely, boy,”

Steve swallowed, looking down. The other two men were right behind him now. “Excuse me, please.”

He was looking down at the wet concrete when he saw a bicycle chain drop from one of the men’s hands. It dangled there, swinging. He looked up, white fear draining blood from his face. The man nearest to him said, “We ain’t moving.”

“I see. What do you want?” said Steve.

“We heard you suck dicks,” said the man. “Heard you got some skills in that area. That true?”

“Yeah?” Steve couldn’t tell if they wanted him to suck their dicks or wanted to beat him up for sucking dicks. Either way, it didn’t seem like there was any point denying it. “Yeah, I do. But I don’t give free samples to cunts.”

“Heh,” said the other man who was facing him, the one dangling the bike chain. “He’s a cocky one.”

“Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, dude,” said the first man, “we’re not here to fuck you, we’re here to fuck you up.”

The two men behind Steve grabbed him, pinning his arms, holding him still, while the first man wound back his arm and slammed a fist into Steve’s gut. Steve yelled, the hands that held him loosed their grip and down he went, winded, on all fours on the ground. He thought of Rumlow and his friends in that cell, the memory washing over him, turning his limbs to water and then the bike chain slashed across his back. 

He yelled as his vest fell apart like damp paper. He covered his head with his hands and drew up his knees, but they grabbed him and hauled his legs away so they could kick at his ribs. 

“Who are you,” Steve managed as they rolled him over. “Why are you doing this?” the bike chain slashed across his belly, a boot on his face turned his head to the side. He looked up, the first man was standing over him. “Just tell your daddy we said, ‘hi’,” he said, before his boot slammed into Steve’s mouth. His lip broke. He tasted blood…

Things went dark for a while after that. When Steve opened his swollen eyes he was alone in the alley. It was still dark and he was lying in filth. It smelt like they’d pissed on him.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket .The screen was cracked to fuck, but when he pressed the buttons it lit up. _Still alive._

Without thinking, he called Bucky’s number. It rang and rang and finally clicked to voicemail. Steve wanted to cry, felt tears coming. All he wanted was Bucky. When he spoke his mouth was so swollen he barely recognised it. “Buck. I’ve been hurt. Can you come? Please, I’m in the alley five blocks away.”

He hung up. He thought about calling another number. He wanted to wait for Bucky to come for him. _But what if Bucky never came?_ He selected the other number. He started to feel weak and sick.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please be warned. The ending is dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, finally, this final chapter of this fic which has taken over a year to update, like I'm JKR or something. But there are reasons. (Like: I fell a bit out of love with the mcu for a while there.)
> 
> But here is the ending, as I always planned and that I hope will seem inevitable for patient people who've followed from the start. I am sorry about what happened. But this was always gonna be a tragedy. A sexy, sexy tragedy.

Steve woke from strange dreams where he was still in that alley, still getting beaten, but instead of unknown men, is tormentors all had Rumlow’s face as they kicked him down into the ground while he whimpered and begged for mercy. 

Sitting up in a bed, in a room that was pale blue and clean, he realised he was in hospital. Sam was sitting in a chair beside the bed. “Hey,” he said gently and Sam looked up and smiled. 

Steve’s mind bubbled over with desperate questions. He wanted to ask Sam how he’d got here. Had Bucky come? Has Sam stumbled out of the club and found him. Or had it been someone else? He wasn’t even sure he could really speak until he did.

“What? Sam, what happened?”

Sam looked sweet and solemn. “You got attacked on your way home. Doc said that from your injuries there were probably a bunch of them.” He shrugs. “Sorry, buddy, you’re broken up something bad. You’re gonna be okay though. Broke bones and bruises. He got you here in time.”

Steve swallowed. “Who? Who got me here in time.”

“Your cop boyfriend.” Sam smiled slyly.

“Funny,” said Steve. “Which one?”

“Not Bucky,” said Sam. He paused for a moment. “Steve,” he said, “can I ask you something kinda weird?”

Steve nodded, noticing as he moved his head that his neck was stiff, held in a wide brace.

“Didja like it?” said Sam. “Once you told me that you were into that. he idea of being beat by a gang in an alley. An’ like anyone but you, I’d never think it. But you were getting into the edgy stuff. Was it a sex thing?”

Steve laughed. Or tried to. Nothing really moved right to laugh and all he really did was splutter. “It wasn’t really like I’d imagined,” he said. But Sam’s question had made him wonder if Rumlow had something to do with what had happened. If it _was_ some kind of sex thing.

Before Steve could ask anymore, although there was nothing much he wanted to ask, the door to his room swung open and a white-coated doctor came in. “Ah you’re awake, good,” she said in a clipped British accent. “She bustled over and shone a torch in Steve’s eyes. “I’m Doctor Carter,” she said. Steve liked her accent. It gave him a little shiver. “Now,” she said turning to Sam. “I need you to leave him to rest now.”

“But he only just woke up, baby, er, doctor. Uh, sorry.”

“Baby Doctor is fine just this once,” said Doctor Carter. “But you do have to leave. Being unconscious is surprisingly tiring and I’m going to give him a sedative in any case.”

Sam nodded. They were both talking about Steve as if he wasn’t a person, wasn’t there or real. In his shifted, addled state, that gave him a little thrill. 

Doctor Carter added something to his IV and smiled a broad lipsticked smile. “I’ll soon have you right as rain Mr Rogers,” she said as Steve found his eyelids suddenly desperately heavy.

*

Steve woke up again and it was night. Late and quiet. The only sounds were soft electronic beeps from the various machines in the room. He realised he’d woken up because he was in pain. His whole body hurt. At first he thought that was it. That he was just in pain everywhere. But then, after a few moments he realised it was mostly his chest, his ribs. He moved is hand gingerly to them and found he was swathed in bandages from his tits to the top of his ass. 

“You broke ‘em,” said a voice. It was then that Steve realised there was someone else, someone new in the chair by his bed. “Or _they_ broke ‘em. Fuckers.”

“B-Bucky?” he said softly.

“Heh,” said the figure in the chair, who he knew very well was not Bucky. “That’s adorable. I think your honey’s been and gone. He wanted to stay but he’s so busy at work trying to stamp out corruption and he needs to sleep. I believe they promised to call him if there was any change. 

“Rumlow. I… Why are you here?”

 

Rumlow stood up and stalked leisurely over to the bed. “I believe your honey did leave you this,” Rumlow said nastily. As he flicked a teddy bear on Steve’s nightstand in the face so it toppled over backwards. “True love, eh? How adorable.”

Steve felt a lump in his throat as he looked at the teddy bear. _What had he done. Oh Buck. What happened._ He looked at Rumlow. “Was it you? Did you, send them?”

Rumlow shook is head, as if this was amusing. “Oh you dumb little slut. Oh god, did it get you hard when they held you down and beat you, heh?” Rumlow reached out and touched Steve’s chest. He winced even though the touch wasn’t enough to hurt. It was enough to know Rumlow could hurt him very easily. “But, oh yes, sugar, you asked me a question didn’t you. Why am I here? Why is daddy wasting time visiting a beat up whore in a hospital room?”

Rumlow’s hand slid down Steve’s body, pushing back the sheet that covered him from the waist down. Where the bandages stopped, he was naked. “Please,” Steve managed, but he hurt too much to move and stop what Rumlow doing.

“Shush, shush, whore,” said Rumlow in gentle tones. “Let me answer your question. I’m here because I want to know something. Rumlow’s and slid lower. is fingers grazed the top of Steve’s dick.

“Jesus,” Steve whispered. “Stop.” But he was getting hard, aching, wanting this touch more than anything.

“Yeah, sugar. No. This is too important for your fucking bullshit. Let’s skip the part where you pretend not to be a whore. Listen to me.” He squeezed his hand tight around Steve’s dick. “I need to know which fuckers did this to you.”

“What?” said Steve, confused by the question and overwhelmed by the feeling of Rumlow’s hand on him, bucking into it as best he could. “I don’t know, why do you even care?”

“Because,” Rumlow sneered. “Whoever did this did it to get to me. So I need to know who it was.”

He jerked Steve’s dick again. It was sharp and firm. Too firm and too much. Steve’s whole body was burning. The pleasure was distant but present, mostly, every movement of Rumlow’s hand just hurt him. He whimpered. “I don’t know. How would I know. It was just four big men.”

“They fuck you or just beat you? You bend over for them? You beg for their fucking dicks after they turned you on by hurting you? I know what you’re like, sugar.”

Steve moaned. Rumlow’s hand was starting to feel less painful and more pleasurable. The pleasure was distant, like it was behind a screen, but it was there and he liked it. It was a gross twisted up shame to like it. Especially when he looked at the teddy bear on his nightstand. But he couldn’t stop. And reliving that night with Rumlow’s hand on him was to sweet to resist. _What had he become?_

“Okay,” said Rumlow. “That’s something. How many?”

“Four, that I saw. All of them big.”

“White?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” Rumlow paused for a moment to think and he stopped moving his hand on Steve’s dick. Steve whimpered. Rumlow looked at him with a lazy smile. “Don’t get greedy whore. Daddy’s working.” He ghosted a light touch, enough to make Steve whimper with frustration. 

“Please,” Steve whispered.

Rumlow looked at him idly. “You want something, sugar?”

“Oh god.” If Steve had been able to move, he would have _writhed_. “Please. Jerk me off.”

“I could but, we have to finish this first and to finish it I’m gonna need more than _four white guys._ ”

Casually, as if he wasn’t really thinking about it, Rumlow made a flat palm and rubbed it over the hard head of Steve’s leaking dick. Steve keened. 

“No?” said Rumlow. “No new thoughts in that pretty head.”

Steve burned with pain and shame. And then it happened. He saw it. He remembered something about the night that he had completely forgotten. “Spiders,” he croaked. 

“What?” said Rumlow and his hand closed around Steve’s dick again, warm and encouraging. 

“Spider tattoos. On their necks. They all had spider tattoos on their necks.”

“Oh good boy,” said Rumlow. “Now, whore, beg for your reward.”

“Beg,” Steve rolled his head against the pillow. “But I did what you wanted.”

“Yeah, you did. And that’s why I’m being so sweet as to let you beg, sugar. Now tell daddy how much you need to come. How filth like you can’t keep it together even when its fucking hospitalised.”

“Daddy,” Steve whispered, squeezing his eyes shut with shame, “please. Please make me come.”

At that exact moment the door to Steve’s room opened. Rumlow moved fast, jolting his hand away and covering Steve with the sheet. But Doctor Carter was staring at them. She’d seen. She squared up to Rumlow. “Can I help you?”

Rumlow cracked a wolf-grin. “Just visiting, toots.”

Doctor Carter nodded, “I see. Then I regret to inform you that visiting time was over 5 hours ago so you need to leave right now or I will have to call security.”

“Not a problem,” said Rumlow, quickly gathering his leather jacket from the chair. “I got what I came for. You might want to check your patient out though, think he’s a bit overwhelmed.”

Steve blinked. His dick, under the sheets, was rock hard and was so desperate he couldn’t keep still. Rumlow barged past Doctor Carter as he left the room.

Carter looked at him for a moment and he felt a rush of shame at what she’d witnessed, as she turned away and closed the door. 

 

*

Rumlow never returned, but Bucky visited often. Almost every evening. And almost very evening he looked exhausted, great dark shadows under his eyes. 

But it was good. They were so easy together. It felt so simple and so right. They were good at this. They rubbed along easy in this spot where Bucky took care of Steve and wanted the best for him. It was so good to feel this way again. Under Bucky’s care, Steve healed. 

He hardly even thought about Rumlow.

But that couldn’t last. 

It had been a week when Bucky fell into the chair with a darker expression and said, “They’re all dead, Steve.”

“Who?” Steve sitting up. Feeling almost whole again. “Who’re all dead.”

“There was a camera in that alleyway. I got the tapes and traced those guys who beat you. They were known offenders, part of a local gang. I don’t know if you noticed, but they all have spider tattoos on their necks.” He shrugged.

Steve said, “I don’t know, Buck. It was dark. I didn’t see anything.”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, well, turns out, that entire gang was killed in a pipe bomb attack last night. 

“Right,” said Steve with a sigh. “Weird.”

“Yeah, so,” said Bucky awkwardly. “I need to know if that’s connected. You know why they beat you up? What that was about.”

“No,” said Steve. “I think it was just a random thing.”

“They didn’t say anything?”

“Nothing much.”

Buck narrowed is eyes and stared at Steve. “That gang, they’re called The Vipers, they were in a turf war with another gang called The Lines. And The Lines,” Bucky sighed heavily. “The Lines were in the pocket of Rumlow, you remember, that’s the cop I’m tracking, so, if there’a any reason these guys picked you out, knew who you were, that you were with me, it could affect the case against Rumlow.”

It was still weird to hear Rumlow’s name on Bucky’ lips, but Steve’s mind was elsewhere. The Vipers hated The Lines. And The Lines were Rumlow’s cohorts. 

So The Vipers had beat him up on purpose, to send Rumlow a message. And Rumlow, in return, he was certain, had sent that pipe bomb. “Buck,” said Steve carefully. He was, he felt, just a breath away from admitting everything. The entire thing. But he paused, unsure, waiting…

…And Bucky spoke. “We really need to nail him, Steve. This whole case is gonna fall apart. I can feel it all slipping away.”

Steve took a breath. He loved Bucky. Bucky had taken the best care of him while he healed. What had Rumlow ever done except make him suffer? He said, “Buck, what happens to the CCTV at the precinct?”

Bucky shrugs. “As far as I know it’s stored for six weeks then wiped.”

“Does anyone check the tapes.”

“Not unless the duty officers report anything. Or there’s a complaint.”

“I’m making a complaint,” said Steve. And he gave Bucky a date. “Check the tapes for that night.”

“Why? What’s the complaint. Steve?”

“Just watch it, Buck.”

*

Bucky returned later that same day. White faced. Steve stared at him with wide eyes. Feeling grimy and gross at the idea that he’d watched those tapes. Of course he couldn’t know Rumlow hadn’t wiped them, but, if no one ever checked them perhaps the least suspicious thing was to simply let them get filed away. Rumlow, he knew, never thought Steve would rat him out. 

“Babe,” said Bucky, “Christ, babe. Why didn’t you…” He stopped, shaking his head. “I wish you’d told me. It explains so much. Jesus Steve, he beat you with his belt. As well as…Look, I know at the time you probably thought he was just being rough on you because he was a sick cop who could get away with it, but I think he knew who you were, knew you were my partner. I have a photo of us on my desk, and he’s, I dunno, he’s made a few odd remarks, about how he’d get to you if he found out we were after him.” He looked at Steve with a steady eye. “We can nail him for this. We can nail all of them. Thanks for telling me. This will close the case on Rumlow for good.”

“Good, Buck. I want him locked up,” said Steve, feeling tearful and not even sure why.

“We might need to come up with a good reason why you didn’t tell me right away. Why,” Bucky shook his head as if he as sorry to be asking this. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Steve swallowed hard. “He said he’d kill you if I told anyone.”

Steve watched Bucky’s throat move. “Okay. Okay, that’ll work. You’ll testify, right?”

Steve nodded.

*

By the time Steve got out of hospital, Rumlow and his friends were already in prison awaiting trial. The video evidence of his attack on Steve, a club dancer he’d picked up, knowing he was the partner of the Officer compiling a case on him was enough to mean he didn’t have a chance of bail. 

Steve thought he’d be fired from his job, for ratting on Rumlow, but he wasn’t. Pierce shook his hand and welcomed him back, telling him how glad he was that Steve had done the right thing, the brave thing. It turned out that the people who were so eager Steve keep Rumlow sweet were even happier the Steve had put Rumlow behind bars.

Seven months later, Steve saw Rumlow again when he testified at the trial. The attack played out in front of the horrified jury. Steve was glad of the witness box, hiding the way the video made him dry-mouthed with confusing arousal. The humiliation of other people seeing what was done to him was something he had prepared himself for, had decided was worth it. The difficult part was that he’d enjoyed it. That the part of his brain where he’d hidden all those dark desires, all that desperate thrilling excitement of his time with Rumlow was still there, shivering, just below the surface. 

When the video ended, Steve looked over at Rumlow in the dock, and Rumlow winked at him. 

Steve was in his best suit, but he felt naked. 

Rumlow got 15 years. 

*

Weeks later, and for the first time since the trial, Bucky rolled over in bed behind Steve and pressed a nice, hard erection against his ass. Steve moaned. He’d still had plenty of dick at work, of course, but he’d missed this. Being in bed, being naked, being held in an embrace and feeling a hot body and a hard dick pressing into him.

Bucky’s lips were close at Steve’s ear. Steve could feel hot breath there. Bucky’s chest was plastered to Steve’s back.

“Suck it,” Bucky snarled, a nasty rasp in his voice.

Steve moaned again. “Buck?”

“You fucking heard me, you piece of shit. Suck my fucking dick.”

Steve didn’t need telling twice. He rolled over, rolled on top of Bucky and kissed his way down Bucky’s chest and belly to his twitching, needy dick. When he took it in his mouth he was so turned on he was light headed. 

He took it deep, as deep as he could in one long swallow. 

Just that was enough to have him hard and leaking, _twitching_ and so close. When he felt Bucky wind his fingers in his hair to hold him steady and still and then buck up hard, fucking his face, using him like an object, a hole to thrust into, Steve almost came himself. But instead, he managed to wait, and instead, just whimpered, helplessly around Bucky’s dick.

“You like this, don’t you?” he heard Bucky growl. “Being used, being taken.”

Steve tried to reply, to agree with everything Bucky was saying, but his mouth was stuffed with Bucky’s dick and Bucky was holding his head to tightly for him to even nod.

“Yeah,” Bucky snarled. “I know you do, baby. I know you fucking do.” And he came, thick and sudden and down Steve’s throat, Bucky holding Steve’s face so tight to his body Steve couldn’t breathe for a moment and, as he came himself, saw stars.

Steve rolled off Bucky when he let go, panting, letting the taste of him roll around his mouth. Bucky slid over and spooned him.

“Steve,” Bucky said. “You like it don’t you? Being forced?”

“Yeah,” said Steve, dreamily. Not really listening. “Yeah. You know I do.”

“Yeah I do. And I keep thinking about that tape.”

Steve felt his body go cold in a sudden rush, a wave from his stomach, radiating out. “What tape?”

“The tape of you. You with Rumlow. I’m glad we got him. You know I am. He was dirty as fuck and we could never make it stick. But what he did to you… You didn’t…” Bucky sighed long and hard in Steve’s ear. “You didn’t want him to, did you baby?”

“You saw the tape, Buck. You saw it.”

“But there’s no sound, Steve. I know most people would see that tape as horrific. But I know you. And I can’t help thinking, how far would you go? Would you go that far?”

“Buck…” Steve began.

But Bucky interrupted before he could really say anything. “Because if that tape is what I think it might be. What i could be, I know that you’ll never be happy with me. With _just_ me.”

Steve felt like he was going to cry. Bucky had always been the smart one. But he said, “Don’t, Buck, don’t talk like that. You’re being crazy. I love you. I’m with you aren’t I?”

*

They didn’t have sex again after that. 

Steve thought constantly about that moment when Rumlow had told him that if he didn’t want what was happening he could walk away. And he hadn’t. But he hadn’t been thinking right. He hadn’t wanted it. He was angry that Bucky thought he did and hated that any sex he had with Bucky now might mean Bucky, ever the cop, was gathering more evidence to damn him.

Steve didn’t think things could get any worse. But they could. Things were about to slide out of control in a way Steve could never have expected. And for all he’d often thought his affair with Rumlow would end in tragedy, he’d never anticipated how literal that could be. And would end up the victim.

Because a month after that, Steve got home at 7am and Bucky wasn’t in the kitchen making breakfast like usual. Curious, but not concerned, Steve went into the bedroom and found Bucky still in bed, dead. 

He’d been shot as he slept. Right in the chest. His blood, red and bright, billowed out like a cloud on the feather filled comforter Bucky still lay underneath. Some of the feathers had moved where the shot had passed through them and they stuck in the blood.

Stunned, Steve fell to his hands and knees on the carpet.

On the floor at the foot of the bed was a gun. Steve picked it up. It was Bucky’s own gun. Once, in the early days of their relationship, Bucky had made Steve kneel and fellate that gun. He’d never forget it. 

Steve was still holding the gun, unable to understand what was happening, when the cops crashed through the door and arrested him for Bucky’s murder. 

*

“Hello faggot, remember me?”

With red eyes and a foggy brain, Steve looked up at Rollins. 

Rollins grinned and looked down at Steve, handcuffed to a plastic chair in a cramped interview room. “So,” Rollins began. “It is easy enough to wipe video tapes, but that faggy little prick Rumlow always used to say, no, Jack - dumb fucking fuck thinks he’s allowed to call me Jack. Well,” Rollins cocked his head. “See where that got him. So, desperate little slut says, it’ll look suspicious if the tapes are wiped. Someone might catch us wiping them. But no one reviews the tapes unless the cops on duty report an incident. And this incident is going unreported.”

Rollins paused. Steve just stared at him, dumb with grief and confusion. “I guess,” said Rollins. “He was pretty confident you wouldn’t talk. Of course, somethings change a boy’s mind. Like getting beat up in an alleyway by a nasty gang, or perhaps, not that, I cant even be sure, as it’s you, you didn’t enjoy that. But when he killed them all in a jealous rage, because no one touches his property, in a move anyone could have predicted, perhaps it was that, that was enough to turn you away from him, for long enough that a glimmer of sense entered your fuck-drunk brain?”

Steve squinted up at him through puffy eyes. “You did that? That gang beat me because of you?”

Rollins shrugged. “I thought it might shake things up in an interesting way.” He reached out and stroked Steve’s jaw. Steve shuddered, but the touch was intoxicating. “Some little pricks don’t know that making everyone scared of what kind of fucked up shit they might pull only keeps you safe up to a point. Up to the point that everyone sees a way to send you down so fast your ass don’t touch the sides.” 

“And Bucky? You killed Bucky? Set me up for it?” Steve said, sudden and desperate.

Rollins shook his head. “Nah. But I think you know that. I was at Rumlow’s trial. Didn’t you spin that line that Rumlow told you he’d kill Barnes if you ratted on him?”

“But,” Steve jerked away from him. “That wasn’t true. He never said that.”

“I guess he thought it was a good idea.” Rollins, traced his fingers over Steve’s lips. “I ain’t normally a sentimental man, you know, cunt” he said, “but you do look even better this distressed. He swung a big thigh across Steve’s lap. Steve looked up at Rollins. He was a tall man, he towered over Steve in his plastic chair. “You smell my dick, bitch,” said Rollins. “You know, I had your daddy in a chair like that once, handcuffed liked that. Begging for my dick.”

Steve must have looked surprised because Rollins laughed. “Oh yeah, faggot. Your daddy used to beg for me. I reckon that was his natural position.”

There was a familiar sound as Rollins unfastened his zipper.

Steve felt himself enveloped in a delicious cloud of heat and the filthy scent of him. And, in that moment, he wanted it. Wanted to lose himself in it.

Rollins grabbed the back fo Steve’s head and forced him forward, but not to suck his dick. He held his scalp, hard, a few inches away. “I never gave him what he wanted. And won’t give it to you either.” And then, with his dick in one hand and Steve’s head in the other, languidly, he began to piss in Steve’s face. In his hair and in his eyes. “Think of this as a taste of what’s to come, faggot. Because where you’re going, slut like you, you’ll beg to be allowed to be used as a toilet. Now,” Rollins twisted his grip in Steve’s hair harder, “open your fucking mouth.”

Steve did as he was told, wondering for a moment if Rollins was going to make him suck dick after all, but no, that wasn’t it. He just wanted to piss in it. Piss in Steve’s mouth and have him swallow it all.

Steve choked and spluttered it down.

When it was done, Steve looked up at him, eyes still sore, face dripping and said, with no prompting. “Thank you. Thank you, sir.”

It wasn’t until later, when he was back in a holding cell, dumb with grief that it understood what Rollins was saying to him. Rollins had brought Rumlow down, and he’d used Steve to do it. 

And because of that, Bucky was dead. 

Steve turned over on the tiny hard bench in the cell and cried himself to sleep under the thin rag of a blanket.

*

Perhaps Rumlow still had some kind of influence, but however it happened, Steve wasn’t surprised to end up in the same prison. On the same cell block. Wasn’t surprised, on his very first day on remand, to have barely registered the decor of his tiny grey cell when a voice behind him said, “Well, well, well, there, sugar. Fancy meeting you here.”

He’d been waiting for it. He spun around and flew at Rumlow, knocking him backwards off his feet, straddling his body and choking him. “You piece of shit,” Steve snarled, in Rumlow’s coughing, reddening face. “You killed Bucky. I’ll fucking kill you.”

Before he could even finish this line they were on him. Two huge men lifting him of Rumlow, holding him was he shook with rage, fighting them and snarling until one of the men punched him hard in the stomach to calm him down.

Rumlow had got to his feet. He dusted himself down and strolled over to Steve. “Reckon your nark boyfriend got what was coming to him, sugar.”

Steve stared at Rumlow with angry eyes. “What are you going to do? I know you had him killed to get me in here. What are you going to do to me?” He was panting. He didn’t know if it was anger or something else.

Rumlow stepped closer. He touched the middle of Steve’s chest. “You know what, sugar, I had a good thing going out there. And you ruined it for me. And not just that.” Rumlow’s voice dropped lower as he moved closer. So close his chest was almost pressing against Steve’s. “You stood up there in court and you lied about me, about us. You said you didn’t want it. Didn’t want the things I did to you. Said what I did to you was rape. I guess I’m kinda dumb because I did’t think you could rape a whore, but here we are. An’ what you said, that hurt my fucking feelings, whore. But,” Rumlow stepped back again, further away, “that gave me an idea. I’ve had a long time to think about what I oughta do to you. And you know, all I ever wanted is to give you what you want.” He takes another step back. “So since it turns out you didn’t want it, even though you begged, here’s how it’s gonna be, you’re locked up here with me, whore. I gotta lot of influence around here. So you’re gonna see me every day. Know what I could do to you. And I won’t touch you. Not ever again.”

Rumlow turned left the cell, his two heavies behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> [My tumblr](http://mathildia.tumblr.com/)
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> [My tag for this fic ](http://mathildia.tumblr.com/tagged/strip-club-au)


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